


A Little Bit of Everything

by ibohemianam



Series: Chaconne [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Domestic, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 56,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibohemianam/pseuds/ibohemianam
Summary: Cassian needs a father. Enter Bail Organa.The Latest:A return. A departure.An ending.





	1. A Little Bit of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise.
> 
> If you're completely confused, see the end notes.

Several weeks after his twenty-fifth birthday, and two days after his release from his most recent stint in the medbay, Cassian Andor found himself sprawled across a low, elegant settee in Senator Bail Organa’s private quarters, glass of Blackmoon ale in hand.

“Your father,” the senator was saying, gesturing with a matching glass, “Was the only person in the galaxy who ever called me by my middle name.” He shook his head fondly, took another sip.

Pleasantly warm and muzzy after several glasses of the rare vintage, Cassian cocked his head.

“Why?” he asked.

Bail--for it had become Bail now, and Senator Organa was a formality of their shared past--shook his head again.

“I never did get it out of him,” he replied, “But that particular habit of his did seem to carry over to you.”

Cassian huffed a laugh.

“No,” he said, “I think that was more necessity than preference. Almost every boy in my village was named Cassian. Some sort of tradition, I think, that I never understood.” He took another long pull at his glass.

Bail looked at him shrewdly.

“Is that why you’ve taken it as your only name?” he asked.

Cassian raised his eyebrows.

“You weren’t joking about going through my personnel file,” he said.

“I’m a politician,” Bail replied blandly, “I’m always joking.”

Cassian snorted and shifted on the settee.

“At first it was because I’d just landed on Fest. I was six. Terrified. There had been twenty or so other boys named Cassian in my village, but I was the only Jeron, which I’d always thought was a strange name. So I picked the name that I thought would stand out the least.” He shrugged, “Turned out that that’s what caught everyone’s attention--including Travia’s, thankfully, when she took me in. Apparently, it’s a very common name, but only on Scarif. I stuck out. But by the time I joined the Rebellion, it’d been my name for so long that I didn’t bother changing it.”

“It’s a good name,” Bail said, “They both are.”

“You speak Scryllic?” Cassian asked, surprised.

“Well,” Bail hedged, slightly more transparent now after several strong glasses of Algarine wine.

The door to his quarters hissed open.

Cassian turned, startled.

“Ah,” Bail said, setting his glass down and rising, “This is a surprise.”

“A good one, I hope,” said the newcomer, a very small girl just on the cusp of womanhood.

She crossed the room quickly, white cloak billowing behind her, and Bail bent to kiss her on the cheek. Cassian stood, uncertain.

“Cassian,” Bail said, turning to him, “This is my daughter, Leia. Leia, Captain Cassian Andor. ”

Cassian took her hand and inclined his head.

“Your Highness,” he said.

Leia looked at him, mouth twitching.

“Please,” she said, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re drinking my father’s Blackmoon ale on a worknight. You’re practically family.”

Bail laughed and handed Leia a glass of her own with a sly smile, waving her onto the settee beside him.

“Your first official drink, I think,” he said.

Leia smirked and took a huge, noisy slurp, sighing dramatically as she swallowed. Bail tried and failed to look affronted.

Leia turned to Cassian, who still stood by uncertainly.

“I turned eighteen last week,” she explained, “I think this old man is still in denial.”

Cassian smiled cautiously.

“I should go,” he said quickly, “I’m sure you have much to catch up on--”

“You’re still being ridiculous, Captain,” Leia interrupted, “Do sit and drink your Blackmoon. You won’t find anything like it this side of the Outer Rim.”

Cassian looked to Bail, who smiled warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

He sat.

“What’s brought you to Yavin 4?” Bail asked, turning to his daughter.

“Can’t I just come visit my father?” Leia replied, turning up her nose haughtily.

“And leave the Senate to fend for themselves? That would be a first.”

Leia snorted, very unladylike. Cassian watched her, fascinated.

“I’m on my way to Generis,” she admitted.

And the spell shattered.

“What for?” Cassian asked, a little more sharply than he’d intended.

She met his gaze, surprised.

“I’m meeting with Travia Chan about the ORCC.”

Cassian looked to Bail in accusation.

“It’s the first I’m hearing about it,” Bail said mildly, setting down his glass, “What’s so urgent about the ORCC that you need to meet in person?”

“Travia doesn’t like holocalls very much,” Cassian answered instead, “And it’s getting harder for her to leave Generis.” He directed his question to Leia, “I thought the ORCC had been transferred under our control last year.”

“It was,” Leia replied, “But it’s still the Atrivis Communications Group that’s staffing it, and they’re--”

“--still directly under Travia’s command, yes,” he finished, wryly amused. Travia never did let things go easily.

“You seem very familiar with this situation,” Leia said curiously.

Cassian snorted, looked to Bail again.

“You could say that,” he replied cagily, “What’s the ORCC done this time?”

“Nothing,” Leia muttered, sitting back, “That’s the problem. They’ve shut down completely, Force knows why, and we really need that outpost for communications across the Outer Rim, for obvious reasons.”

Cassian frowned minutely. That didn’t sound like Travia at all.

“Any insights, Cassian?” Bail prompted.

Cassian hesitated. In his days as unit commander on Fest, he would never have questioned Travia’s motives under any circumstances. Never.

“Have you spoken with Loom Carplin, her Chief of Staff?” he asked instead, stalling for time.

Leia shook her head and replied, “He’s been offworld for some time. I haven’t been able to reach him.”

Cassian sipped his rapidly-warming Blackmoon ale and came quickly to a decision.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said, putting his glass down.

Leia stared at him.

“To Travia Chan,” she said, just for clarification.

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, “When are you due to leave for Generis?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good.” He stood, drained his glass, “I’ll ‘call her now.” He squinted at the chrono on Bail’s wall. It would be just past ten in the morning on Fest. Perfect.

“You’re just going to holocall Travia Chan, commander-in-chief of the Atrivis sector,” Leia repeated, looking at him as if he’d sprouted another head, “Are you insane?”

Bail looked on, obviously amused.

“Go ahead and use the ‘projector in my office,” he offered.

Cassian nodded in thanks.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, turning on his heel.

Just as the door closed behind him, he heard Leia exclaim, “Captain of _what!?_ ”

* * *

A little over an hour later, Cassian returned.

“It’s alright,” he said blandly, dropping back into his seat, “Just a miscommunication.”

“Well, we’ve definitely been having a lot of _those_ ,” Leia muttered under her breath, shooting her father a rather sour look, “I apologize, Captain--”

“--Cassian,” he corrected.

“--Cassian,” Leia amended with a faint smile, “I wasn’t aware you were an intelligence officer.”

Cassian shrugged. He should have been pleased.

“Travia and I have a long history together,” he said uncomfortably.

“You’re from Fest?” Courtesy couldn’t disguise the doubt in her voice.

“In a sense,” Cassian allowed. To Bail, he said, “Loom has been on Fest dealing with some personnel issues.” At Leia’s blank look, he clarified, “Loom Carplin, from Mantooine and faster with his mouth than his blaster, was on Fest, dealing with some personnel issues.”

“Ah.”

“So Travia’s been locked in some diplomatic nonsense there, and since the Atrivis Communications Group consists of volunteers from both Fest and Mantooine--”

“--she shut them down to avoid escalating the situation,” Leia completed.

“Right.”

“She could have just _told_ us.”

Cassian snorted.

“Travia would rather die than admit Loom had put his foot in it again.”

“I thought relations between Fest and Mantooine were much better now, with the Atrivis Sector Force and everything.”

“They are,” Cassian replied, accepting another glass of Blackmoon from Bail with a nod of thanks, “But all that really means is that we’re not at war with each other.”

“So you’re from _Mantooine_ ,” Leia inferred, eyebrow raised.

Bail winced.

“That, I will answer with a resounding no,” Cassian replied, vaguely amused by her youthful certainty.

Leia sighed a little too dramatically to be serious. Cassian suppressed a smile.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose I have to thank you for saving me half a trip. I’ll be glad to spend a little more time here with my father--if he’ll have me. I’m not due back in the Senate for another week.”

Bail looked fondly down at his daughter, who, abandoning all etiquette, tucked her legs up under her on the settee.

“I’m sure we can find something around here for you to do,” Bail said.

Cassian downed the last of his ale and stood, checking the chrono on the wall again.

“I should really be going, then,” he said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess Organa. Bail.”

“Good night, Cassian,” Bail said, recognizing a tactical retreat when he saw one.

Leia sat up straighter and added, “Thank you for your help.”

Cassian inclined his head again and turned smartly for the door.

This time, Leia waited until it was closed before turning to her father.

“Is he always like that?” she asked, confused.

Bail laughed, low and rich.

“No,” he replied, “He’s usually a lot worse.” He cocked his head, still smiling, “You bring out the best in him.”

“It was probably the Blackmoon,” Leia said, leaning into his chest, feeling warm and small and young.

“I don’t think so,” Bail replied, staring thoughtfully into his empty glass.

“He seems like a very lonely man,” Leia said, “Or a very sad man.”

“In my experience, those two have been one and the same.”

Leia fell silent again, relishing the quiet, the respite, however brief, from being _Princess_ Leia Organa.

“He couldn’t be from Scarif, could he?” she asked, just when Bail had been about to drift off.

“What makes you say that?” he replied evenly.

“Oh, Force,” Leia said, able, as had always been the case, to sense the truth, “He is. I wasn’t too sure about the accent, but that name…” she trailed off, sat up, pulling the pins from her hair. “I didn’t know there were any survivors.”

“I don’t know that there are any others.”

That same look on Leia’s face appeared whenever she thought about her birth parents--longing, uncertainty, sadness. It appeared infrequently enough that Bail reached out for her instinctively, resting a hand on her shoulder.

They shared a crooked smile.

Leia leaned back into him.

“Mother says hi,” she said quietly into his shoulder, “She said to tell you that the starflowers were blooming, but I said you’d already know.”

Bail closed his eyes, seeing the blue fields spread out in the palace gardens, smelling their sweet scent rising with the morning.

“I think I will return with you to Alderaan,” he said, after a pause, “The Alliance can spare me for a month or so.”

Leia smiled.

“You should bring Captain Andor with you,” she said, teasing, “Do you think Mother would approve?”

Bail snorted, knowing exactly what she was asking.

“Joke while you can,” he said, “In a few years, having your mother’s approval will be the least of your worries.”

“I’m never getting married,” Leia declared.

“Mmmhmm.”

He slouched lower on the settee.

“Are you really going to fall asleep here?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You really are getting old.”

“Mmmhmm.”

* * *

Six days later, Cassian received notice of his temporary posting to Alderaan.

“A month?” Kes raised his eyebrows. “What for?”

Cassian shook his head.

“I have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such a huge backlog of stuff I've written for this headcanon, and _Sacrifice_ was just getting a bit bloated and completely inaccessible, so I'm splicing out this miniseries I've written because, tonally, it stands completely on its own.
> 
> Chronologically, this story takes place after Chapter 1 of _Sacrifice_. Thematically, it follows the Implosion miniseries. Knowledge of the Beginnings miniseries would be nice.
> 
> See what I mean by inaccessible?
> 
> Title from Dawes.


	2. I Can't Think About It Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened on Naboo, the third time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because nothing is ever linear: an interrupting prelude.
> 
> General TW.

He is drunk.

The rhydonium-engine whisky slips down his throat, a numbing agent more potent than any analgesic.

He wants to die.

Even as the music fills the cantina, he rocks back on his stool, tosses back another, slams the glass onto the counter.

He signals for another with bleak, dangerous eyes.

He doesn’t know why he is drinking. It is just something to do to crowd out the clamoring voices. The damning guilt.

He drinks so he doesn’t have to remember.

The lives he’s taken. The responsibility he's shrugged off onto something he no longer understands.

Another, he demands, and the cantina, the world beyond blurs around him, spinning, searing, accusing.

He wants to die, so he goes looking for a fight.

Here, even on Naboo, it is easy enough to find. The people, cowed in the face of the Empire, seethe underground, overflowing with resentment, an unspoken pain. This, he understands. This, he _feels_ as fists fly, desperate to drown the guilt, the helplessness. It is a visceral thing, hopelessness. He feeds off of it, drawing strength, desperation.

He is beaten unconscious, thrown outside.

He wakes before dawn, head aching, throbbing, bleeding sluggishly from a blaster bolt to his shoulder.

He still wants to die, but not quite so much as the night before.

He’s managed to retain his comlink, by some unfortunate miracle. He comms Kaytoo, who is as frantic with worry as his reprogrammed circuits allow.

He passes out again before they make it back to the ship, and, unsurprisingly, Kaytoo pilots them back to Yavin 4 in one piece, disregarding subterfuge entirely and tearing across the galaxy along some unmarked route, parsecs bleeding into parsecs.

Enemy hostiles, Kaytoo says redundantly to the emergency medical staff when they land. But Kaytoo knows the truth. Kaytoo has always been good at knowing the truth because he cannot lie.

It’s been days, perhaps. It is far from Naboo to Yavin 4. He is still bleeding, drifting on alternating waves of pain and insensibility, shouting, crying out in the dark. He vomits. He sobs, lost in a fever haze.

Kes is there, distantly, and so is Shara, hovering, terrified.

He thinks they can smell the liquor on his breath.

But no, it’s been days.

Truth is, he’s always been a word away from wanting. Ever since Scarif had melted away under an Imperial cloud of ash and regret, he’d held himself tightly, refusing to fall, leaning on the few he had.

But now, the world spun. Spun, whirling, tearing, shrieking through space.

After his visit to Fest, looking Travia, Shara, _Kes_ in the eye--he can’t.

He wants to die.

Again.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

Again.

He's fine, he tells everyone. Just a miscommunication planetside.

A meet gone wrong.

Naboo really had it out for him--what can he say? He laughs.

No one who matters really believes him. He can taste their gnawing skepticism, feel it grow, swell, burst out of reason.

It has to stop. Eventually. It probably will. Soon.

He wakes up. He wishes he hadn’t.

He is barred from the command center “until recovery is complete,” General Draven says, with as much inflection as a poorly-reprogrammed droid.

He wanders the base, deep into the night. Finds himself outside a recently familiar door.

The temptation, the longing is strong, and he gives in, just this once, and knocks.

It is late, but the door opens almost immediately, and he stands, blinking, in the light.

“Cassian,” Bail Organa says, “Come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written while actually inebriated. Edited in the ensuing regret.


	3. Small Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassian Andor is a complete fish out of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget how young Cassian actually is.

In all his years of interstellar journeying, Cassian had never found himself on Alderaan, which, in the end, made sense. There wasn’t much to be had there for murderers and thieves.

As it was, he couldn’t help but surreptitiously peer out the viewport as they circled to a landing in Bail’s cruiser, the senator himself in the cockpit. Ingrained duty had led him to offer his not-inconsiderable skills as a pilot, but Leia had waved him off with a laugh.

“If he hadn’t been born into House Organa, my father would have been an X-wing pilot, Senate be damned,” she said, to Cassian’s look of bemusement. Loudly, she whispered, “It makes him forget he’s an old man.”

Cassian watched her smile at her father then, so full of warmth and contentment, and quietly withdrew to his cabin.

He’d questioned Bail about this posting rather forcefully, adamantly opposed to the idea of receiving a soft assignment as a result of their unconventional relationship. Bail, in characteristically diplomatic fashion, had referred him to General Draven, who, in characteristically blunt fashion, had ordered Cassian to “get the _fark_ off of Yavin 4 without coming back full of blaster holes, and if I have to make it mandatory medical leave, I will.”

So Cassian had packed his bags and gone, guilt dogging his footsteps.

Aldera stretched away below them for the brief moments that they hung suspended in the crisp, clear sky. He could just make out the glittering surface of Aldera Lake in the distance, overshadowed by the looming, snow-capped peaks of the Triplehorn Mountains.

Leia appeared at his side, smiling when she saw him staring, wide-eyed, at the graceful spires of House Organa.

“Not quite Yavin 4, is it?” she said, a small curve to her lips.

He shook his head slowly.

Docking sequence completed, Bail appeared from the cockpit, joining them in the cabin with an unfamiliar light in his eyes.

“Welcome to Alderaan, Cassian,” he said, and opened the cabin door.

Leia stepped out first, bags in hand, suddenly demure and reserved, clad in a billowing white dress that somehow shone in the evening light. Bail was right behind her, tall and proud, breathing deeply the scent of his homeworld. Cassian emerged last, travel-weary and aching, into a cool breeze and a gentle susurration of distantly welcoming water.

“General Rieekan,” Bail said, greeting a wiry, middle-aged man in uniform.

“Viceroy,” the general said, “It’s good to see you again.” He inclined his head, “Princess.”

“General,” Leia greeted warmly.

“This is Captain Cassian Andor,” Bail said, and Cassian stepped forward warily, opting for a handshake instead of a salute.

“I’ve heard we have you to thank for the quick resolution to the situation with the ORCC,” General Rieekan said, taking Cassian’s hand in a firm grip.

“I do what I can,” Cassian replied evenly.

He caught the glint in Bail’s eye and stepped back.

“Leia has updated me on the current state of affairs,” Bail said, “So unless you have urgent news, I think we can discuss matters over dinner.”

To Cassian’s surprise, General Rieekan laughed.

“Her Majesty is waiting, I suppose,” he said, and shook his head, “No, there is nothing that won’t wait until tomorrow. I only came to welcome you back, sir, and to see if there was anything you needed.”

“Thank you, General,” Bail said, also smiling, “The offer still stands, however, though there will be no talk of business in this case.”

Rieekan didn’t look directly at Cassian when he said, “Not today, I’m afraid, sir, though I appreciate the invitation.”

“Of course,” Bail replied, inclining his head, “I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, sir,” the general replied, “It _is_ good to see you again.”

With another half-bow, he turned and marched back across the hangar.

Leia looked at Cassian sidelong.

“I think you two would get along,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes, watching the retreating figure of the general until it disappeared into a ‘lift.

“Really,” he replied.

* * *

Breha Organa was not, by any means, a tall woman, but she held the same physical presence so subtly wielded by her husband. Together, Cassian easily sensed how difficult they would be to sway both in and out of the political arena.

In the front entry of the east wing of House Organa, she and Bail embraced, wordless, while Cassian and Leia stood by, Leia smirking, Cassian shifting his rucksack uneasily.

After an eternity, they pulled apart, staring into each other’s eyes.

Leia cleared her throat. Cassian jumped.

“Ah,” Bail said, turning towards them again, one arms still held tightly around his wife, “Breha, this is Captain Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence. Cassian, my wife, Breha.”

“Your Majesty,” Cassian said quietly, awkwardly, taking her hand and bowing.

“Force,” the Queen laughed, pulling him up, “What have you done to this poor man, Bail? Stand up, Captain. You’re here as our guest.”

Bail chuckled, a rare enough sound that Cassian looked up, face hot, completely lost.

“Come,” Bail said, slipping off his cloak and hanging it--himself, Cassian noticed, somehow surprised at the lack of lurking footmen--on a brass hook just beside the door, “I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room,” Cassian repeated, brow furrowed.

“Yes.”

“Here.”

“Yes, here,” Bail said, with an air of mild exasperation, “Not right at this spot, if you please--I don’t think the serving staff would appreciate climbing over you every morning, though if you do prefer it, I’m sure they’ll manage.”

“But,” Cassian protested, “This is the palace. The Royal Palace.”

“This is my home,” Bail corrected gently, stepping forward and taking Cassian’s rucksack. He looked back at Breha. “Our home.”

Something passed between husband and wife.

“We’ll be in the dining room,” Breha said, “Take your time. Come on, Leia.”

They disappeared together, Leia with a carefully blank look on her face, through a small sitting room by the entryway and around the corner.

“ _Fark_ , Bail,” Cassian hissed, when they were out of earshot, “What is this? I’m supposed to be on assignment, not--” he spluttered, “--not _holiday_.”

Bail looked at him doubtfully.

“General Draven did mention the mandatory medical leave, didn’t he?”

“ _Yes_ , but--”

“--then there you have it.” He clapped Cassian on the shoulder, and turned, striding away. “Come. I hope you can handle some stairs, you useless invalid.”

Cassian stared after him, mouth opening and closing, feeling distinctly taken advantage of, and followed.

There were a lot of stairs.

Just over a week out of medbay, Cassian still found himself woefully short of breath by the time Bail opened the door--an actual fiberwood door, which swung on hinges--to what, presumably, was to be his room for the next few weeks.

His room, not his quarters.

“I know you value your privacy,” Bail said, gesturing him inside, “So I’ve instructed the staff not to enter unless under your express orders.” He set Cassian’s rucksack down on a large, plain dresser and gestured to another door. “The ‘fresher’s in here, laundry too, just throw it in the ‘chute. I know you didn’t bring much, and you’d probably drown in any of my things, but if you need something, we’ll find it for you.” He turned to the large, transparisteel door, framed by thick, heavy curtains. “That’s the balcony. It runs all the way around this floor, so if you need to stretch your legs without feeling like you’re climbing Triplehorn Peak, you’re set.” Thoughtfully, he added, “We usually get a good breeze up from the lake this time of the year, if you wanted to leave the windows open.” He turned back to Cassian, who stood just in the doorway, rigid.

“It’s a bit much,” Bail said, after a pause.

Cassian glared at him, shifting uncomfortably.

“Do you think.”

Bail sat on the edge of a sturdy nightstand, arms folded across his chest.

“You’re here to convalesce,” he said.

“I don’t need a month of--” Cassian gestured at the bed, the fresher, the _balcony_ , “of _this_ . I could have _convalesced_ well enough back on Yavin 4 and gotten some important work done. The rebellion doesn’t stop just because I got shot, Bail.”

“The rebellion doesn’t stop,” Bail allowed, “But the rebellion can wait.” He stood, crossed the room in a few long, sure strides, “You were dead to the galaxy for nearly a week, Cassian. Some people were worried.”

Cassian looked away, crossing his arms.

“Like General Draven,” Bail said blandly.

Cassian jerked his head back around to face Bail, eyes wide.

Bail laughed and took his arm.

“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve heard tell he smiled once,” he said, leading him back out into the hall, “But it turns out someone just spiked the caf.”

Cassian sighed.

“Let’s go eat,” Bail said.

* * *

Dinner was stewed kebroot and roast gorak in candied malla petals, followed by half an ocean of Alderaan Ruge Liqueur. Cassian was fairly certain the meal had been prepared by the queen herself. He was uncertain how he felt about that.

They sat around a small, round table in a small, round room with no serving staff, just the Queen and Viceroy and Princess of Alderaan, who rose to “just grab another plate” or “clear the dishes” with a frequency that would likely have alarmed nearly any other member of the senate. Cassian sat quietly, thankful for Leia’s chatter as she informed her mother of all that had been going on in the Senate--it turned out she had been absent from Alderaan for nearly as long as her father. Age meant nothing, Cassian agreed.

Bail laughed frequently, Cassian noticed, the tension eased, quieted with the simple familiarity that came with drinking from his favorite mug, from sharing wry glances with his wife over their daughter’s latest political escapade, from just sitting and just being--home.

Breha questioned Cassian politely, though there wasn’t very much one could politely question about intelligence work for the rebellion. He told her things he was certain she already knew--how long he’d been with the rebellion, the general atmosphere of the rebellion on Yavin 4, how Senator Mothma was getting on.

Leia listened intently, eyes bright, as he discussed the situation on Naboo, where, three times now, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of losing his life. Neither Bail nor Breha waved aside Leia’s questions, and she certainly had many, having been to Naboo just once in her childhood and keenly interested in beginning humanitarian supply runs to its beleaguered citizens. No one said it was too dangerous, though it was. No one said it was an exercise in futility, though that, it most certainly was.

But youth--true youth, with a vague remnant of tempered innocence… That was how odds were conquered.

After Bail Organa, Viceroy and First Chairman of Alderaan, had rolled up his sleeves and done the dishes by hand, they, Leia included, migrated to the sitting room, where more Ruge and oro sticks awaited, though Cassian watched Breha snatching a third glass out of her daughter’s hand with a distinctly motherly look.

Cassian, staring into his half-empty glass, thought about where he’d been at eighteen.

In the trenches on Fest, dug in deep and hard through the frost against the remnants of a bitterly betrayed, formerly allied Separatist cell, blaster in one hand, vibroblade in the other because charge cartridges were hard to come by and--

“Cassian?”

He blinked, startled. Bail looked at him with a mixture of amusement and apprehension.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, mind churning, “What were you saying?”

“Leia was just about to go up to gather her things,” Breha said, “She’s returning to the Senate early tomorrow morning.”

Cassian turned quickly to the princess.

“So soon?” he asked.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks when we’re released for recess,” Leia shrugged, a frank and seasoned intergalactic traveler, “You’ll still be here, so don’t say goodbye.”

Cassian snorted, then blamed it directly on the alcohol, but Leia smiled, rising and pressing a hand to his shoulder before gracefully departing up the stairs. He watched her go.

“Your daughter is a remarkable young woman,” he said to Breha.

“It runs in her blood,” Breha replied, with just the vaguest tinge of sadness, eyes lingering on the stairs.

Bail rested an arm casually across the back of the couch. She instinctively leaned back into it.

Cassian fidgeted with his glass.

“Breha,” he said, stumbling a little over the familiarity, “I wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay here. I’d had no idea--”

“--Enough of that,” Breha said mildly, though there was a piercing quality to the gaze she leveled upon him, “From what Bail has told me, it sounded like you needed a quiet place to stay,” she paused, then added, “and possibly reconsider any future excursions to Naboo.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand through the thick stubble across his jaw.

“That, I will do,” he replied.

* * *

He couldn’t sleep that night.

Not in this large, wide bed, by the large, wide windows overlooking the large, wide lake that was far too still to be a sea.

Cassian rolled to his feet, still in the creased shirt and trousers he’d worn since Yavin 4, and slipped out onto the balcony.

The night was crisp and sharp, still host to the trailing edge of winter. He shivered and wandered restlessly along the curved rail around the residential wing, marveling at the lack of--visible--armed sentries, at the near-absolute silence, the peace.

It made his skin crawl.

Alderaan had no moon, and he closed his eyes against the dull orange glow of the castle lights, guided only by the smooth wooden rail beneath his hand, the worn floorboards beneath his bare feet.

A door closed quietly. He snapped his eyes open, stiffened.

“I thought it was you,” Bail said wryly, sleep-mussed, hair tousled, “The palace guards were about to sound the alarm, seeing someone wandering around up here.”

“Ah,” Cassian said, flushing, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

Bail waved him off.

“It’s alright,” he said, wrapping his robe tighter around his shoulders and slowly ambling up to join Cassian at the rail overlooking the gleaming darkness of Aldera Lake.

Cassian watched him out of the corner of his eye, suddenly on uncertain footing.

“What am I doing here, Bail?” he asked.

The senator did not reply, but his silhouette in the dim orange light of the castle behind them bowed its head.

“You know,” Bail said quietly, “I am old enough to be your father.”

There was no question in his voice.

Cassian swallowed, gripping the rail with white-knuckled hands.

“I know,” he said, voice thick.

He felt the looming presence of the Triplehorn Mountains rise above the lake, sentinels of shadow.

“It was Leia’s suggestion that you come to Alderaan with us,” Bail said into the suffocating darkness, “I don’t believe she was entirely serious, but she does have a way of understanding people. An instinct, if you will.”

Silence, even from the hyperlanes miles below.

“Her instinct was that you were lonely.”

“I have friends,” Cassian snorted, “Shara. Kes. _Family_.”

“I know that,” Bail replied, “But I wanted to show you a home.”

“What do you take me for, a stray akk pup?” Cassian snapped, turning, “The rebellion _is_ my home. I live for the rebellion. I will die for the rebellion.”

“You need more than just the rebellion, Cassian,” Bail countered, “An abstract concept cannot be home.”

“You think the rebellion is an abstract concept?” Cassian hissed, “Well, maybe you do. But for those of us who don’t have _this_ \--” he stabbed a finger at the looming spires of House Organa “--to run away to when we get tired of living in an _abstract concept_ , there is nothing more real than the rebellion.”

“You think the rebellion cares about you?” Bail retorted, worn and haggard in the half-light, “It’ll suck the life out of you, drain you, twist everything you believe to suit its purposes, and if you don’t fit those, it’ll empty you out and let you rot.”

“I don’t _need_ anybody to care about me,” Cassian spat, “This is _war_ , not some holonova. If I can’t help the rebellion, I’d rather die.”

“No, I think you’d rather die than--”

“--I’ve heard this all before,” Cassian snarled, pushing off from the rail and turning away, “I don’t need to hear it again.”

Bail reached out and seized his arm before he could take another step.

“No,” he said quietly, almost dangerously, “I really think you do.”

Cassian snatched his arm away.

“Get away from me,” he said roughly.

“Why are you so afraid of having people care for you?”

“ _Fark_ , I’m not _afraid_.”

“Cassian--”

“--Why does everyone keep saying that I’m afraid?”

“Cassian--”

“--Well, _fine!_ ” Cassian spat, “You want to hear me say it? I am afraid. I am always afraid. But I’m not afraid for myself. Why should I matter?” he drew a deep, shuddering breath, “I’m afraid for the people who think that I do. Because people who care about me die.”

“You can’t just--”

“ _You are not my father!_ ” Cassian cried, aching, longing, “My father is dead. My mother is dead. Everyone’s dead. _Everyone_ _will die!_ ”

Bail shifted, towards him, not away.

“I know,” he replied, “I’ll never replace your father, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still care for you as he did.”

Cassian froze, trembling.

“Why would you want to do anything like that?”

“Because I don’t think you’re lonely, Cassian. I think you just need someone who understands what it’s like to have his world destroyed. Someone who knows what it’s like to have family that was found, not born.” Bail paused, then added quietly. “You wouldn’t remember what life was like before the Empire. But I do.”

Cassian stared at him, at this weary shadow, so noble, so misplaced. He wanted to scream-- _I don’t want this, I don’t deserve this_ \--he wanted to cry-- _why are you doing this, you don’t know what you’re doing to yourself_ \--he wanted to sink through the floor and out of existence, but what he did instead was grip the handrail so tightly his hands ached, head bowed, bending beneath a new burden he hadn’t ever understood.

But Bail Organa placed a hand on his shoulder.

And, instinctively, he leaned into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Radical Face.


	4. Shed A Little Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian cooks dinner.

Morning dawned, sharp and bright.

Cassian started awake, pillowed in a cloud. Immediately alert, he sat up, flailing a little until he realized he was not in his bunk on Yavin 4.

In fact, he was not in a bed at all, the fading impression of very thick, rich carpet on his cheek. His trigger finger itched.

He squinted at the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains.

Sunlight. Curtains.

Alderaan.

“Oh, fark,” Cassian muttered.

He checked the chrono--no, the clock, an actual Force-damned clock with spindly hands--on the dresser, puzzling at the numbers before working out the time to be either 1030 or 0550. He glared at the puddle of sunlight in his lap. 1030 it was. Half a day wasted.

He heaved himself to his feet and staggered to the ‘fresher, head thick and heavy with an overabundance of sleep.

Ten minutes later, clad in a clean shirt and trousers, he gingerly descended the many stairs to the ground floor, datapad in hand. He sat at the empty dining table, eyeing the neat bowl of starblossom placed in the middle.

His comlink chirped, and he scrambled to respond.

“Ah,” crackled Bail’s voice, very dry, “You’re alive.”

Cassian winced.

“Yeah,” he croaked--Force, he sounded terrible--”Sorry, I just woke up.”

Bail laughed, a burst of static. Cassian found his lips twisting into a smile.

“I was just checking in,” Bail said, “I left a credit chip and some access cards on the kitchen counter, since I’m pretty sure you’d go insane if you were stuck in the palace all day.”

“Bail--” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“--Kes mentioned you make a mean esquilida,” Bail powered right on over him, “And I’ve already told Breha not to worry about dinner since you’ve got all this time on your hands, so--”

“-- _Bail_ \--”

“--unless you want the Queen of Alderaan to go to bed hungry tonight, well, daylight’s burning.”

Cassian sighed, turning for the kitchen.

“If you hurry,” Bail said in his ear, “You’ll make it down to the market before all the good stuff is gone.”

There was the credit chip on the counter, along with three access cards. One was clearly for a speeder.

“Fark you,” Cassian muttered.

“See you tonight,” Bail laughed, and his voice clicked off.

Cassian glared at the credit chip. He turned back to the dining table, to his datapad brimming with communiques about dead and dying worlds. He glared at that too, for good measure.

Last night’s conversation had felt so much like a dream. A wild dream.

He snatched up the credit chip and access cards and swept out in the direction of the hangar, leaving his datapad behind.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Bail’s speeder handled like another wild dream come true, and after a brief holonet inquiry about the location of the market, he was almost sad to come to a halt at the edge of Aldera Lake.

Cassian stood by the speeder for a moment, floored by the strange, haunting familiarity of the glaring sunlight in his eyes, the rippling of the canopies over the market stalls. He shook himself. Warily, he approached the bustle, keenly missing the weight of his blaster at his side.

But this was Alderaan, and there would be no terror here.

He found himself relaxing in increments as he moved slowly among the stalls, which carried goods far more varied than the small market square in his memory. Here, there were fresh cheeses, locally-grown ruica. Goraks croaked and fluttered in large cages.

His nose led him to a small stall selling fresh catch. Esquilida did not call for fish, but--there--he saw the same small, yellow perch he and his father used to pull out of the pond behind the village school. He drifted to a halt, eyeing the rest of the stock. No large seabass here, for Aldera was a freshwater lake, filled with pure water from underground aquifers. The water was so pure, it was rumored, it could be drunk directly, with no filtering at all.

“What can I get for you today, sir?”

Cassian started, blinking down at a very short, wiry man burned brown by the sun, greying hair falling to his shoulders. His Basic was heavily accented, certainly not Alderaanian.

“Sorry,” Cassian said, when he realized he hadn’t replied, “The--ah, the perch. Fresh catch?”

The man reached up and heaved the clear tank down from its shelf.

“Of course,” he said, after a pause, “Just this morning.”

Cassian bent and peered at the twitching fish inside. He looked back up at the man.

“Is it alright if I take the tank?” he asked.

“Of course,” the man repeated, still staring.

Cassian fished around in his pocket for Bail’s credit chip and held it out.

The man squinted up at him.

“Pay me later,” he said finally, “I don’t think you’ll want to be carrying these around all day.”

Cassian blinked.

“It’s really not--” he began.

“--later,” the man said, turning to another hovering customer, “Your name?”

“Cassian,” he replied, without thinking.

The man hesitated again, then jerked a brusque nod.

“Come find me when you are done,” he said, “I’ll be here.”

Cassian turned away, disconcerted, and wandered back into the crowd.

His Alderaanian was not very good, but a childhood on the streets translated well enough into a rough sort of charm, which he wielded just as skillfully as a vibroblade, haggling cheerfully with the market citizens. Several hours later, laden with vegetables and cheeses and spices and butter and flour and a packet of freshly-sliced gorak, among much other miscellany, he staggered back to the fish stall.

The man laughed at him, hardly visible over a towering loaf of warm Aldera bread.

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, heaving the tank of fluttering perch into his arms and jerking his chin, “Lead the way.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Cassian lurched back to Bail’s speeder, nudging open the storage compartment under the rear seat and shoving everything in, bread and gorak all. He helped the man heave the--thankfully, lidded--tank in after all his groceries, then quickly slammed the door shut before anything could move.

Sweating, he reached into his pocket again for Bail’s credit chip.

“Thanks for the help,” he said, holding it out.

“Good business,” the man replied, but his hands remained at his side.

Cassian looked at him, confused.

It was only then that he realized they had been speaking in Scryllic.

“I thought so,” the man said, a wary smile on his face.

Years of intelligence work had inured Cassian to any variety and magnitude of surprise, or so he had thought.

“You--” he stammered, also in Scryllic, “You survived?”

“No,” the man shook his head, “I left. Years before.”

There should have been disappointment, but that was drowned by bubbling joy--there was someone else, and he was not alone.

The man squinted at him again.

“You were there,” he said flatly.

“I was.”

“There hasn’t been anyone else.”

“No.”

The sun was warm, and the lake lapped at the rocky shore.

“Put your credit chip away,” the man said, at last.

“But--”

“--you can repay me tomorrow night. There’s a pub in the Latone Quarter. The Queen’s Head.”

“Of course,” Cassian nodded, still thrumming with excitement, with joy.

“Just after sundown, then,” the man said.

“I’ll be there.”

The man held out his hand, and Cassian took it.

Cassian stared after him, mystified, as he returned to his stall, a small silhouette against the sunlight.

* * *

Some of the previously-invisible house staff materialized at the hangar door when he dropped the freshly-sliced gorak on his foot with a loud curse and helped him lug everything up the lift to the kitchen with only a few bemused looks.

He spared a few minutes to check his datapad, scrolling through urgent messages and sending quick replies. There was a holomessage from Kes, and he stifled a sigh, feeling utterly henpecked, but he opened it anyways and let it flicker to life as he returned to the kitchen to spread everything out.

_Hey Cass_ , holo-Kes said.

Cassian rolled up his sleeves, rummaging through the drawers and finding the rolling pin in the very last one.

_Just saying hi. We miss you. Right, Kay?_

Make the dough. Maybe just a little more water.

_I’m a droid, Kes. I don’t--_

_\--That’s a yes, in case you couldn’t tell. Shara says hi too, but she’s out shouting at some recruits right now. She’ll probably try to ‘call you tomorrow morning, our time, which is, what? Your tonight? Force, trans-galactic time zones are such a--_

_\--Alderaan is eight standard hours behind Yavin 4._

_Thank you, Kay._

Knead and roll, nice and thin, while the griddle heats, then toss them on, but just for a moment.

_So how are things going with the senator? And the princess? I’ve never met her, but Shara says Wedge says she’s a good kid. Or not kid anymore. Didn’t she just have a birthday or something? All the Alderaanians got kind of teary-eyed a few weeks ago while you were snoozing in the medbay_.

Kill, trim, scale, gut the fish. Kriff, there goes one, the slippery things, sorry.

_Speaking of medbay--_

Beat the eggs, a little violently.

_\--I hope you’re taking care of yourself. I know we’ve said it before, but we’ve been a little worried, Cass. I mean, we all know that Naboo has it out for you, but three times in three years? Really?_

Batter and bread the fish. Start up the sauce, low heat.

_Promise me you’ll never go back there, please. I’m too young to deal with this kind of stress._

So many onions to chop.

_If you keep it up, I’ll look like Draven in a few years. How old do you think he actually is? Because he looks about ready to fall over sometimes, when he thinks no one’s looking. And he’s going bald. But I don’t think he’s noticed. Which, I think, is probably the worst part._

Pulverize the gorak because, apparently, there is no beef to be found on Alderaan.

_Shara also says she’s enjoying your bunk. Not my snoring, though. I think she’s secretly hoping you come back soon just so I won’t have an excuse for her to sleep over._

Gorak with the onions, fish into the spitting pot of oil.

_When are you coming back anyways? I know you said a month, but whenever you say things like that, you’re usually gone for a lot longer. What’s there to do on Alderaan? I can’t think of why they’d need an Intelligence officer there, unless it’s something to do with the senator._

Time to bake.

_He’s a good man, Cass. Not even just for a politician. He’s just a good man. Period._

Just enough time to roll and heat a few more, to be fresh.

_Well, Kay’s giving me the meatbags-are-idiots-droids-will-rule-the-world-someday look, so I guess that means I’m supposed to go to sleep now. Give me a ‘call or something, okay?_

_I’ll take that as a yes._

“Force,” Bail Organa said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, “When I said ‘make my wife dinner,’ I didn’t mean ‘tear apart the kitchen.’”

Cassian shoved a plate of sliced and spiced ruica into his hands.

“You asked for it.”

He opened the oven and snatched out the steaming esquilida. Bail sniffed appreciatively and followed him to the dining table, setting the ruica down beside the neatly fried fish.

“That smells pretty amazing,” the Queen of Alderaan said, sailing into the room, clearly just out of her state robes.

“Please, sit,” Cassian said uncomfortably, gesturing at the table.

They sat.

Bail, never one to stand on ceremony in the privacy of his home, seized a huge hunk of esquilida and popped it into his mouth.

“Yes,” he said, chewing slowly, “This is divine.”

“I agree,” Breha said.

Cassian nibbled at a fresh tortilla, and was warm.

* * *

“There’s a man down at the market,” he said later that night, out on the balcony.

“Now, that’s news,” Bail replied.

“He sold me the fish.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s from Scarif.”

Bail shifted against the rail to look at him.

“Really,” he said.

“He left before the Empire came,” Cassian replied, “We’re meeting at a pub tomorrow night--the Queen’s Head?”

Bail nodded slowly.

“I know the place.”

Cassian tapped his fingers against the rail, calculating.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted quietly.

Bail looked at him curiously.

“What good is it going to do?” Cassian continued, “It’s just one man. They’re still--" he shrugged "--dead.”

“Some things can’t change. Some things can.”

“ _That’s_ your advice?” Cassian said incredulously, “It sounds like it’s from one of Kes’s holonovas.”

“Trust me,” Bail said with a chuckle, “I’ve had worse.”

Cassian snorted, “I find that hard to believe.”

Bail smiled to himself.

Somewhere out in the galaxy, perhaps, a little green troll might feel his amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I like to wave my Star Wars naming wand and come up with things like esquilida.


	5. Picture of A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian has a drink with a man. He learns a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot via conversation.

The Queen’s Head had stood in the Latone Quarter since before the dawn of time itself, Bail had said. Seated at a small, crooked table in the corner, Cassian could certainly see how that could be the case. The pub had… character, was the way to put it.

He took a sip of his whisky, eyes fixed on the door.

The man entered just as the sun slipped away behind the Triplehorn Mountains, and he spotted Cassian immediately, sparing just a moment to wave at the bartender before making his way over.

“You’re here,” he said in Scryllic, dropping into a seat with an ominous creak.

“Yeah,” Cassian replied. Curiously, he asked, “I’m sorry, I never asked your name.”

The man smiled tightly.

“It’s the same as yours,” he said, “Cassian. Though that shouldn’t be a surprise. My second name’s Lyron. Most call me Ro.”

“Ro,” Cassian repeated.

They eyed each other warily again, and a waitress brought over Ro’s drink, setting it down before him.

“So,” he said, “How’d you get out?”

“Stowed away,” Cassian replied.

“On an Imperial ship?” Ro asked, eyebrows raised.

Cassian shrugged, looking down into his drink.

“When did you leave?”

“About seven, eight years before the Imperials landed.”

“Why?”

It was Ro’s turn to shrug.

“I was a young man then,” he replied, “Scarif was just--Scarif. The Outer Rim. Far away from everything.”

“So you decided to come to Alderaan?”

“No,” Ro said, looking away, “We went to Carida.”

Cassian nearly choked on his whisky.

“Carida,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Ro drew the word out, a question.

“Who were you with? Who went with you?”

“Some friends.”

“What were their names?”

Ro took a long drink, set his glass down hard.

“Kekoakalani Auli’i, Cassian--Dalian--Tanis, and Mikani Hiapo.”

A recitative.

Cassian’s stomach clenched. His hands, gripping his glass, trembled.

“You knew my parents,” he said.

Ro sat back in his chair, chin sinking to his chest.

“Jeron,” he said, dark eyes hard, unreadable.

Cassian jerked his chin, a twitch, involuntary.

“Force,” Ro breathed, passing a hand through his hair, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-five standard,” Cassian replied.

“Fark, has it been that long?” Ro said under his breath.

Cassian watched the myriad of emotions that played out across his face--shock, regret, _fear_.

“You were there when my father was killed,” he said tonelessly, whisky forgotten.

Ro jerked his head up sharply.

 _Guilt_.

“I was,” he replied. He drained his glass. “Your mother and I came to Alderaan together. Kani--” he broke off, hesitated, continued, “Kani stayed on Carida.”

Cassian stared broodingly at the table.

“Why Alderaan?” he asked.

“It was the first transport we found. We fled Carida with nothing, not even a credit chip.”

“Why didn’t you return to Scarif with my mother? Did you know my stepfather?”

More guilt.

“I knew Genru, yes,” Ro replied, “He was a good man.” He looked over his shoulder and signaled the bartender again, turning slowly back to Cassian. “I couldn’t face returning to Scarif. Our entire village was there, and everyone had heard of what had happened on Carida--we were tainted. But Scarif had always been home for your mother. If it wasn’t for Lian--your father--I don’t think she ever would have left.”

There came a sensation of drowning.

“All those years,” Cassian muttered.

“Carida might have been in Republic hands at the time, but there were, undeniably, Imperialist leanings even then. Scarif had always been closely aligned with the Separatist movement, not the Republic, and definitely not the following Imperialists. Having been to Carida, having _served_ in the Grand Army, it would have been impossible for me to return.”

He’d had no idea. Politics had been a distant thing as a child.

Ro’s second drink arrived.

“My father, my blood-father, how--” Cassian began, stopping short at the look on Ro’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

 _Guilt_. A scream.

“Do not ask me how he died,” Ro said quietly, “If you ask, I will tell you--I owe at least that to your mother--but, _please_ , if you understand at all, do not ask me how your father died.”

Cassian sat back, recognizing the spectre of long, empty nights. He finished his whisky. Another had appeared at his elbow before he spoke again.

“What was he like?” Quietly, uncertain.

Ro ran his hand through his hair again, staring distantly into his glass.

“Like you, actually,” he said, after a moment, “When I saw you at the market yesterday, with your hair falling like that into your eyes, I thought you were him for a moment. And then you spoke, and I was almost certain I was seeing a ghost.” He folded his arms across his chest, a faint smile nearly hidden in his thick, coarse beard. “He was tall, but very thin, like an oro stick. Just as brown, too.” A small laugh. “He was a smart man, a very smart man, Lian. He’s the one that put everything together for us to get off Scarif, to go enroll in the academy at Carida. Never a Separatist, your father.” Ro shook his head. “No, he had his beliefs, and they were firm.”

Cassian devoured this, stored it away, to be unpacked, word by word, during empty nights.

“Your mother,” Ro continued, anticipating his next question, “Was much the same--very sharp, defiant in her beliefs, which didn’t always match Lian's. They clashed so much I used to wonder how long they would last as a couple.” He shrugged. “But for all that they disagreed, there was much more that they valued together, the bigger things, not petty little things like politics and who forgot to empty out the recombinator.” He looked at Cassian, gaze piercing. “They loved Scarif, regardless of--” Ro gestured with a casual hand “--everything, and I think that is the main reason your mother returned there to raise you. That had, ultimately, been their dream, to raise you on Scarif in the old ways.”

“Genru…” Ro trailed off, distant again, “I never got to know him very well. Where Lian was brash, Genru was--” a pause, “--reserved. A very careful man, I felt he was. Very methodical, which made a certain amount of sense, given his role in the Senate.”

Here, he broke off and looked keenly at Cassian.

“What brings you to Alderaan, anyhow?” he asked.

Cassian, lost in thought, blinked.

“Sorry,” he said, “What?”

“What’s brought you to Alderaan?” Ro repeated, “You certainly haven’t been here long.”

“I’m, ah--” Cassian thought quickly, “--visiting a friend.”

Ro nodded, slowly, now well into his third glass of some sort of bitter-smelling ale.

“Where’d you end up, after Scarif?” he asked.

“Fest,” Cassian replied, bracing himself.

Ro’s eyebrows shot up.

“Hm,” he was all he said.

Cassian turned the conversation to safer waters.

Ro, he learned, was one of the few fishermen allowed out on Aldera Lake with any regularity.

“They’re vary careful with that sort of thing here,” Ro said, with some pride, “But I fish according to the old ways--me, my boat, and a few nets, nothing else. Anything smaller than a handwidth, I throw back.” That keen look returned to his eyes. “You could come out with me one morning, if you wanted,” he said, “You grew up by the sea. I can still sense some of it in you.”

“I would like that,” Cassian said, around the tightening of his throat.

The night meandered on, quiet, certain.

In the middle of the faintly embarrassing tale of how his mother and father had met (two words: strip dejarik), his comlink chirped.

“Force,” he muttered, smacking it into silence, “Sorry, Ro. I have to take this.”

Ro lifted his glass in acknowledgement, and Cassian rose a little unsteadily for the door.

“ _What?_ ” he demanded once he was outside.

“Ah,” said Bail Organa, mother thrantcill of all mother thrantcills, “You’re still alive. Still conscious, even. I’m impressed.”

“This is excessive,” Cassian replied.

“You’re out past your bedtime,” Bail said, “There will be consequences.”

Cassian checked the chrono on his wrist, then looked back at the bar.

“They haven’t even done final call yet,” he said, “When does this place close?”

Bail snorted.

“It doesn’t.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll be back soon.” After a pause, he added, “Don’t wait up.”

“As if. Don’t start anything, you--”

Cassian cut the connection and pushed his way back into the pub.

“Sorry,” he said to Ro again, dropping back into his seat.

“Who was that?” Ro asked.

“My friend,” Cassian replied, exasperated.

“Comming you this time of the night? I hope it wasn’t serious.”

“No,” Cassian shook his head with a laugh, “No, everything’s fine. He’s just--” he hesitated, “--very--” _persistent_ , he meant to say, but “--concerned,” came out instead.

Ro set down his glass. Cassian cursed his fifth glass of Alderaanian brandy.

“He takes convalescence very seriously,” he said, trying to brush the matter aside.

“Force, I didn’t mean to keep you out,” Ro said, alarmed.

“No, it’s fine,” Cassian insisted, waving a hand. He winced. “Well. I guess it is late. Would you--”

“--let’s call it a night,” Ro said, rising.

“I’m sorry to cut it short,” Cassian said, also standing.

“No,” Ro replied, “I’m getting too old to be doing this sort of thing, anyhow.”

They stared at each other.

Cassian held out his hand. Ro took it.

“I’ll be here a while,” Cassian said.

“You know where to find me,” Ro replied.

Cassian smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “I do.”

 


	6. Lower Your Eyelids to Die with the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, Alderaan is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Methodically excising all British-isms because this is not the Empire.

"You can’t just put me on a ‘ship and send me off wherever you want,” Cassian protested, hungover, irritated, and up far too early for someone who was supposed to be _convalescing_.

“You have anything better to do?” Bail returned, disgustingly well put-together for the hour, which was--Cassian glanced at the clock on his dresser--well before dawn.

Cassian was tempted to slam the door in his face. That was probably the best part of having an actual hinged door. The option to slam, dramatically, like in the historical holonovas. But, no, that would be juvenile. He was above such things.

Unlike, of course, the Viceroy and First Chairman of Alderaan, who raised his eyebrows in challenge, a smile struggling to break free.

“If we leave now, we’ll be there before sunrise,” Bail continued.

“I’d like to be in bed before sunrise,” Cassian snarled, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“You can sleep on the way there,” Bail said, “I’ll fly us.”

Cassian glowered up at him.

“You’re just going to keep pounding on the door until I say yes, is that it?” he growled.

“I _heard_ you were a fast learner.”

“Fark off.” He leaned his head against the door, eyes closed. What had he ever done to deserve this?

Bail chuckled.

Cassian sighed.

“Let me get my jacket,” he muttered, turning back into the murky darkness of his room.

“Rinse out your mouth a bit while you’re at it too, will you?” Bail called after him, “I might pass out just smelling your breath. Then the Guard’ll have you for attempted assassination.”

“Fark off,” Cassian repeated, and slammed the door in his face.

He emerged five minutes later, jacket hastily pulled on over yesterday’s shirt, hair dripping, trousers unbelted, bootlaces trailing on the ground.

“The Rebellion’s finest,” Bail said, eyeing him.

“F--”

“--Yeah, I get it. Come on.”

They descended to the hangar, Cassian blinking owlishly in the lift, squinting when Bail flicked on the speeder lights and threw his spare cloak in his direction.

“It’ll be cold on the way there,” Bail said, by way of explanation. Wordlessly, Cassian wrapped it around himself and sat with a thump in the passenger seat, scowling.

Determined not to laugh, Bail pulled his own cloak tighter around his shoulders and started up the engines, pulling smoothly out into the night. Beside him, Cassian hunkered down below the windscreen, enveloped in massive folds of cloth. He dozed lightly, warm despite the wind across his face.

Bail, out of the corner of his eye, watched him twitch awake every few minutes, eyes wide, gleaming under the stars as they sped across Aldera Lake into the heart of the Triplehorn Mountains. He said nothing, hands steady on the controls.

It was still full dark when he swept to a landing on a half-hidden ledge sheltered by a rocky outcropping. He powered down the engines, and Cassian, already awake, slipped his hands out from under the cloak, absently chafing them together.

“It’s just a short hike from here,” Bail said, pulling two lanterns from the rear seat and flicking them on. He handed one to Cassian, who shrugged out of the cloak and hopped stiffly to the ground.

“You might want to keep that on,” Bail said, indicating the puddled cloak.

“What, and trip and fall to my death? That thing’s like a bathrobe on me,” Cassian asked, hair mussed, still slightly disgruntled, “I’m from Fest. I’m fine.”

Bail decided not to press the issue.

“This way,” he said, jerking his head towards a familiar trailhead at the edge of the landing.

Cassian followed wordlessly.

Bail had come this way often as a young man--a _much_ younger man, complained his knees as he stooped to avoid a low-hanging branch--so often, in fact, that he could find his way even in complete darkness. He had brought Leia here as well, when she had turned fourteen, but they had started from the base of the mountains then, climbing, scrambling, hiking through the day and night, slipping, falling, fording the great white river that fed Aldera Lake, all the way up to--

Cloudshape Falls.

He could hear the pounding waters, spitting foam and moss, even before he smelled the freshness, the sharp, crisp taste of early spring.

He paused, eyes closed, panting lightly in the pre-dawn air. The Force’s creation. Immutable.

Cassian nearly stumbled into him, chest heaving. Bail eyed him guiltily.

“Nearly there,” he said.

Cassian nodded, swiping a hand across his forehead.

“Sorry,” Bail added.

Cassian ignored him, refraining from bending over, hands on knees, only by leaning up against a smooth overhang. Bail waited until he could stand without being in danger of falling over, the lantern casting sharp shadows across his face.

He set out more slowly, the sky lightening, marking their progress, outlining the rounded edges of  massive river stones. At last, he pulled Cassian up onto a large, flat slab hanging out over the river, hollowed out by years and years of patient ice melt.

The frothing mouth of Cloudshape Falls was still a vague grey, blue-tinted in the uncertain light, and he sat down, leaning against a mossy stone, waiting. Cassian sat beside him, pushing hair out of his eyes, staring at the tremendous cloud of mist below them.

“It won’t be long now,” Bail said, over the roar of the falls.

There was a primal energy in this place, something ancient, something almost-forgotten. Cassian had felt the same fear and wonder, standing alone on the shattered ice fields of Fest, the ground creaking, groaning beneath his feet. There, he had found it in the stillness, the isolated, barren wasteland, but here, on Alderaan, it was in the steady, constant roar, full of slow, primeval power. As the sky brightened, he watched the misty cloud over the river thicken and rise, obscuring the path they had traveled, roiling, rearing, reaching up, up, up into the pink sky, circling, shrouding them in a dense fog he could neither touch nor penetrate.

He looked over at Bail, who smiled, small and fond, at the look on his face.

Then sun rose, and the world was transformed.

The fog around them glowed, golden and welcoming, a warm, living, breathing thing, twisting, dancing above the roar of the falls. Cassian stood slowly, transfixed. A quiet, desperate yearning blossomed in his chest, familiar and somehow--right. The fog danced, and the falls sang, a relentless, majestic thunder, pounding in time with the blood in veins.

In the very next moment, he blinked, face wet, as the fog became mist once more, subsiding, shrinking down to the river, scattered by the ascending sun. He felt Bail’s hand on his shoulder.

“What--” he choked, voice small, insignificant, “What was that?”

Bail looked down at him, the same quiet energy of his earth now shining so clearly from his eyes.

“Home,” he said.

* * *

The were quiet on the speeder ride back to Aldera, somehow filled, satisfied.

“The man from the market,” Cassian began suddenly.

Bail looked over at him.

Cassian fiddled with the edge of the cloak. He turned, finally, to look at Bail.

“He knew my parents,” he said, “They left Scarif together.”

Cassian looked away, out across the glittering expanse of Aldera Lake to the rising sun.

“I see,” Bail said.

“Do you like fishing?” Cassian blurted.

Bail raised an eyebrow.

“It has its merits,” he replied mildly.

“Because I want you to meet him,” Cassian continued, fidgeting, “I think it’s--” he broke off, struggling, unwilling, to find words.

Bail watched him.

“I get it,” he said.

Cassian jerked his head around to look at him, surprised.

“Okay,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulgently written because I’m missing the sunrise through the low fog over Ditton Meadows.


	7. To Be Completely Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the interim, the Damerons make a reappearance.

"Where the fark have you been?” Kes shouted, holo-face fuzzing.

“Alderaan,” Cassian replied blandly, slumping into his chair.

“I ‘called you _two_ kriffing days ago, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

Cassian shrugged, reaching forward and adjusting the hololens.

Kes squinted at him. After a long moment’s observation--

“You need to shave,” he said.

“Oh, for Force’s sake,” Cassian groaned.

“Seriously, Cass,” Kes continued, “You look like you’ve got a baby Wookie nesting on your face.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Cassian growled.

Kes grinned.

“So, I hear you’ve been staying in the royal palace,” he said, “Some assignment, isn’t it?”

Cassian shifted uncomfortably.

“That was a joke, Cass, Force. Lighten up.”

Cassian glared into the hololens. Kes snorted, a loud burst of static.

“I should know better by now, I guess. But, hey, you should have at least returned Shara’s call.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Cassian replied, “But here you are instead.”

“Shara’s--”

“--right here,” Shara’s face popped up at the edge of the projection field, “Just out of the shower, which I cut short just to talk to you, so be grateful.”

Cassian smiled crookedly.

“Of course,” he replied.

“That’s just not fair,” Kes groaned, pushing Shara aside.

Shara pushed him back, peering at Cassian critically.

“You’re looking a little better,” she said, “Have you been sleeping?”

“Enough,” he replied.

Shara narrowed her eyes.

“So,” Kes said loudly, “Royal palace. Or mountain palace, whatever they call it there. How is it?”

“There are a lot of stairs,” Cassian replied.

“Mountain palace, then,” Kes said, settling back in his chair, “Show me.”

“What, you want a _tour?_ ”

Kes shrugged, “Yeah. Sure.”

Shara rolled her eyes expressively.

“No,” Cassian said flatly, “I’m _convalescing_. I need my rest.”

Kes snorted again, something of the tension draining from the stiff line of his shoulders.

“So what _have_ you been doing?” he asked, “I saw that message you sent Melshi. He really appreciated it. I didn’t know he had family on Alderaan.”

Cassian lifted a shoulder.

“I made esquilidas,” he said.

“Now, that’s a surprise,” Shara said.

“ _Someone_ told Bail about it,” Cassian muttered, glaring at Kes, “It was practically blackmail.”

“You cooked dinner for the royal family of Alderaan?” Kes exclaimed, entirely unapologetic.

“There’s a market down by the lake,” Cassian said.

Kes, mid-speech, snapped his mouth shut.

“Uh,” he said, drawing the word out, “Okay?”

“There’s a man there who sells fish.”

“Now, _that’s_ a surprise,” Shara said.

“He’s from Scarif.”

Kes and Shara shared a look. Shara sat forward.

“You’re sure?”

“He left before the Empire arrived. With--” he hesitated, finished in a rush, “With my parents.”

Shara and Kes looked at him in stunned silence.

“That’s…” Shara took a breath, “That’s amazing, Cassian.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled a little, and she returned it, painfully familiar.

“It’s crazy you would meet on Alderaan, of all places,” Kes said, grinning.

“Yeah.”

“Did he know them well?” Shara asked.

Cassian nodded.

“I’ll bet you’re glad you’re _convalescing_ now,” Kes smirked.

“Believe me,” Cassian replied, “I am.”

* * *

That afternoon, Cassian wandered down to the lakeside market on foot, taking far longer than anticipated to navigate the twisting, narrow streets from the palace, hallmarks of an ancient defense structure built into the city structure itself. By the time he reached the water’s edge, weary and aching, most of the stalls had been struck, bundles of folded canopies and bundled plastisteel poles lying in neat rows. Limping slightly, Cassian saw with relief that Ro’s stall was still standing, pale blue canopy shivering slightly in the evening breeze. The fisherman saw him coming and stood, a smile breaking across his grim face.

“Jeron,” he said, in Scryllic, “Come for some more perch, eh?”

“No, Force, we’re still working through them,” Cassian shook his head wryly, hands deep in his pockets, “I was hoping I could take you up on your offer and come out with you tomorrow morning.”

“That’s the sea speaking, I see,” Ro said with a broad grin, folding his arms across his chest, “It’d be good to have some extra hands on board.”

Cassian smiled a little crookedly.

“Would it be alright if my friend came along?” he asked, “He’s someone I’d very much like you to meet.”

“Your friend,” Ro repeated, “The concerned one.”

“Yeah,” Cassian admitted.

Ro’s gaze was dark and penetrating.

“Well,” he said at last, “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks,” Cassian said, unable to keep the grin from his face, “When should we meet you?”

Amused by his enthusiasm, Ro replied, “How does four sound?”

“Terrible,” Cassian laughed, “But we’ll be here.”

* * *

“Let me repeat this, just for the sake of clarity,” Bail said that night, “You want me to drag myself out of bed at some Force-forsaken hour tomorrow morning to go... fishing.”

Breha hid a smile in her wine glass.

“That’s correct,” Cassian replied, waving his fork, “At least _I’ve_ given you advance warning.”

Bail shook his head with exaggerated exasperation.

“The Guard is going to love this,” he muttered.

“When have you ever worried about what the Royal Guard thinks?” Breha snorted, “The sort of Viceroy you’ve been, you’ll likely send half of them to an early grave from the stress alone.”

Bail made a face, wiping his mouth and dropping his napkin onto the table.

“You’re encouraging this?” he asked.

“I think it’s a great idea."

“I never said I thought it wasn’t,” Bail protested, “I’m just looking for someone to see things from my perspective here.”

“Well,” Breha said, standing and gathering the plates, “You can kriff off.”

Cassian raised both eyebrows. Bail spat out his wine, laughing, and stood, snatching the plates from her hands.

“For that,” he said, planting a kiss in her hair, “I’ll do the dishes.”

Breha laughed and swatted him with his own napkin.

Cassian smiled crookedly and followed Bail into the kitchen.

“You know how to swim, right?” he asked.

“Force,” Bail said, waving on the sink and rolling up his sleeves, “It might be spring, but I don’t think any man in his right mind would want to go for a dip in the lake at four in the morning. It’ll be freezing.”

“But you know how to swim,” Cassian pressed.

Bail eyed him warily.

“Yes,” he replied, “I do. You better not be planning anything.”

Cassian managed to look affronted.

“Of course not,” he said. Leaning back against the counter, he rubbed his hand through his beard, stepping quickly out of the way as Breha sailed through the door, pulling her state robes on as she went and speaking urgently into her comlink. Bail shut off the faucet and turned to look at her, brow furrowed. Breha shook her head and rolled her eyes, gripping his arm quickly and hurrying out, sparing an apologetic smile for Cassian. Bail watched her go for a moment, then waved the faucet back on, returning to the dishes. Cassian blinked, swallowed, wordlessly, feeling at once out of place.

“How, uh--” he said, thoughts scrambled, “How long can you hold your breath?”

“ _Force_ ,” Bail muttered, shutting the faucet off again and turning to look at him, “ _What_ aren’t you telling me? If you and your friend from Scarif are planning on drowning me in the middle of the night, at least have the courtesy of informing me first.”

Cassian shifted, scowling.

“We’re not trying to drown you. We’re going fishing.”

“Well, he has a boat, right?” Bail demanded, “From what I understand, fishing typically involves sitting in a boat and waiting, not, I don’t know, _swimming_ after fish.”

Cassian grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, Force,” Bail said, “You’ve got to be joking.”

“He does have nets,” Cassian hedged, “For the forage catch.”

“Do you know how old I am?”

“Sixty-five standard,” Cassian replied absently, barreling on, “He prefers to fish according to the old ways.”

“Which means…?”

Cassian frowned, searching for the word in Basic and coming up empty.

“Spearfishing,” he said in Scryllic.

Bail stared at him.

“Oh, fark,” he said.

“So you _do_ speak Scryllic,” Cassian said.

“Well, I’d hoped it would be put to better use than divining the nature of my very inglorious death.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Seriously? _Spearfishing?_ ”

“The old ways,” Cassian repeated, drawing himself up, “Don’t insult my culture.”

“As if,” Bail muttered, drawing a sudsy hand across his forehead, “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“You can probably just stay in the boat if you want,” Cassian allowed, “We’re not going to--throw you overboard or anything.”

“Uh huh.”

Shaking his head, Bail turned back to the sink.

“Are you actually okay with this?” Cassian asked, incredulous.

“No,” Bail replied, stacking the wet dishes and hurling a dishcloth at Cassian’s face, “But I’ll do it anyways.”

Cassian clawed the dishcloth from his face with a huff of irritation and snatched up the top plate.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said, awkwardly.

“Of course I want to,” Bail said, “You want me to meet your friend. I want to meet your friend.”

“Just like that,” Cassian said, turning away to open the cabinet and place the plate inside.

“It’s not that complicated.”

Cassian hesitated, still facing away.

“No,” he said, almost to himself, “I guess it isn’t.”


	8. Into the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fishing trip.

“Oh. Another thing,” Cassian, behind the wheel of Bail’s speeder, said at half-three the next morning, “He doesn’t know you’re--you.”

“That,” Bail replied around a massive yawn, “is not surprising, all things considered. What did you say you were doing on Alderaan?”

“I said I was visiting a friend.”

Bail shot him a sidelong glance.

“Hm," he said.

They sped through the deserted city, arriving at the lake just as the massive clock tower by the looming Senate House struck four.

Cassian hopped nimbly to the ground, barefooted, the sand cool and firm between his toes. He smiled, a child again. Bail caught the look and felt his own lips twitch.

“There he is,” Cassian pointed at a bobbing orange light approaching from the shoreline.

“Jeron!” Ro called, stripped to the waist despite the chill, “You made it.”

“I did,” Cassian grinned, striding forward and gripping his hand. He looked over his shoulder and waved Bail over. “This is my friend--”

“--Your Majesty,” Ro interrupted, eyes wide in the light of his lantern.

“Bail,” the Viceroy corrected, holding out his hand.

“Bail, this is Lyron Tryhane,” Cassian said, "He goes by Ro."

Ro took Bail’s hand, eyes fixed on his face.

“It’s an honor,” Bail said in Scryllic as lightly accented as his Basic.

Ro snapped his head around to look at Cassian, who, hands tucked behind his back, rocked back and forth on his feet. The fisherman turned back to Bail, realization awakening.

“Genru,” he said.

Bail smiled softly.

“He was a good man,” he replied, “He loved Koa very much.”

“Yes,” Ro said faintly, “He did.”

Cassian looked away, out over the water, which glowed with the lights of a million reflected stars.

“Should we…” he trailed off, jerking his chin at the modestly-sized wooden fishing boat sitting at the water’s edge.

“Yeah,” Ro said quickly, turning, “We should head out now.” More quietly, he said, “You have some explaining to do, Jeron.”

“We have some time,” Cassian replied.

Between the three of them, they made short work of pushing the boat down the sandy bank, its shallow draft allowing them to drift gently out until Ro took the oars as Cassian climbed nimbly up the mast to loosen the sail when it became caught in a stray line.

Bail watched them for a moment, then sat and took the tiller with a steady hand, navigating by the stars and the gentle flapping of sails as they ballooned out, great white shadows in the dim glow of the lantern.

Cassian looked at him in suspicion, then surprise when it became clear that he did, in fact, know what he was doing. Ro shipped the oars, letting the wind carry them across the lake, rippling, nearly skimming the surface. At his nod, Cassian trimmed the sails, and Ro cast the heavy anchor over the side.

They bobbed, silent, on empty glass.

“This is the fun part,” Cassian said, grinning fiercely, an unfamiliar light in his eyes.

Ro rummaged around in a large crate bolted just aft of the mast, withdrawing two air-powered spearguns and two pairs of night goggles, tossing one of each to Cassian, who examined them with a surety that came of something approaching innate experience.

“You did this much as a child?” Bail had to ask, watching them.

“I learned to swim before I could walk,” Cassian replied, tugging off his shirt and trousers and tossing them into the crate, leaving him in his underthings. “You get a free pass this round,” he said, grinning, “Only two guns. When we get back, you’re coming in with me.”

Ro looked slightly scandalized, but Cassian only laughed, restlessly shaking out his arms in anticipation.

“Pound for pound?” he suggested, strapping his goggles on, and tapping his chrono, “Say, fifteen minutes? Bail can be impartial judge. He’s very good at that.”

Ro cracked his neck, a grin working its way through his beard.

“If you say so,” he said.

“Alright.” Cassian nodded. “Ready?” he asked Bail, who raised his eyebrows and inclined his head.

Cassian dove overboard with hardly a splash, Ro hot on his heels.

Bail marked the time on his chrono and waited, leaning back and drinking in the sight of millions and millions of stars shining brightly in the absence of city lights.

Ro returned first, heaving a massive eel up into a bucket hanging over the side before turning and diving under again. Bail moved to sit right in the forward pulpit, legs hanging over the side. He dipped a toe into the water. It was cold. Very cold.

Cassian broke the surface a moment later, hair slicked back, gleaming. Something thumped into the bucket with a wet splat, then he, too, disappeared again.

When fifteen minutes had elapsed, the large bucket was full to bursting, and Ro, dripping, dumped everything into one of the many insulated ice chests that lined the port rail.

“I think that was a draw,” Bail said.

Cassian snorted, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead.

Ro hesitantly offered his goggles to Bail.

“Would you like to have a go, sir?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cassian said, shivering, “He would.”

Bail sighed and rather apologetically snatched the goggles from Ro’s hand.

“Strip,” Cassian demanded.

“Breha will hear of this,” Bail grumbled, doing as he was told.

“I’m sure she will,” Cassian replied, taking Ro’s speargun and clipping it to his belt, which he’d slung diagonally across his chest.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Bail said, also shivering.

“Are you going to jump, or will I have to push you?”

“I’m too old for this,” Bail muttered, and jumped.

It was cold. Very cold.

Once the shock subsided, instinct kicked in, and he bobbed at the surface, arms and legs carving wide, easy circles.

Above him on the boat, Cassian cocked his head, looking down at him.

“I didn’t mean for you to jump in right that instant, but if you’re so eager--”

He dove in gracefully, emerging a moment later beside him, speargun in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Bail, “This end away from you. This button to fire.”

“What if I miss?”

Cassian looked at him.

“Don’t.”

“ _Cassian._ ”

“Just reel the line back in--here, this lever. No, not that one, that’ll take your finger off. Yeah. That one. And then you have to pump it again. Yeah. See? Easy.”

Bail settled the goggles over his eyes.

“This is humiliating,” he said.

“Rule number one,” Cassian said, ignoring him, “What is rule number one?”

“I don’t know. Don’t drown?”

“Well, that goes without saying, I hope,” Cassian muttered, “Rule number one--don’t shoot me.”

“Right.”

“I’ll dive with you the first couple of times. How long _can_ you hold your breath?”

“You ask like I actively measure my lung capacity. I don’t know. A minute, maybe.”

“Wonderful.”

“Okay.”

“Ready?”

“No, but I guess we’re still doing this anyways.”

“I’ll be right behind you. Don’t shoot me. Pointy end away. That’s all you need to remember.”

“I’ll try,” Bail said, very dry, and dove.

It was dark until, suddenly, it wasn’t.

The lake was _alive_.

Schools of gleaming fish, nearly dazzling through the night goggles, circled restlessly, endlessly in the night, scales glowing, glittering with invisible light. He felt Cassian hovering just behind him, raised his speargun, and fired. There was a faint shiver of imagined impact, and Bail fumbled with the retraction mechanism, lungs starting to burn. Cassian snatched the speargun out of his hands and pointed towards the surface.

Bail frowned as well as one could underwater but turned away, streaking towards the glimmering light of the stars and breaking the surface with a spluttered pop. Cassian appeared a moment later, holding the speargun in one hand and a very small grouper in the other.

“Congratulations,” he said drily.

“Well, I got something, didn’t I?”

“Bail, you fired a speargun into a school of fish. I’d be more impressed if you _hadn’t_ hit anything.”

Cassian flipped the grouper up into the empty bucket with a wet slap.

“Congratulations, sir,” Ro said from the deck.

“His name’s Bail,” Cassian corrected, treading water and looking up. “Say, I have an idea. D’you have a rebreather in that crate of yours? His Majesty here’s not going to see anything interesting if he can only hold his breath for less than a minute."

Bail sighed loudly.

“Here,” Ro tossed the rebreather down, and Cassian caught it mid-air, tossing up Bail’s speargun as he did so.

“I know you have actual work to do,” he said, “We’ll share.”

Cassian passed the rebreather to Bail, who fitted it on over his face.

“Let’s go,” Cassian said, “Farther out.” He paused, adding. “There’s no pride out on the sea. If you’re tired, tell me, and we’ll head back.”

“I’m tired,” Bail said.

“Fark you.”

Cassian leisurely stroked away from the boat, his front crawl smooth, quiet. Bail flailed after him.

About two hundred meters out, Cassian stopped suddenly, pausing to float, face-down in the water as Bail caught up.

“Wait here,” he said at the surface, and dove away. Bail, left alone to tread water, waited, no longer quite so cold. He checked his chrono, marking one minute, two minutes, three minutes of silence, just beginning to grow worried when Cassian resurfaced beside him, grinning.

“The water is so clear here,” he said.

“Really,” Bail said.

Cassian laughed, high and clear, at the sour look on his face.

“Come on,” he said, “This is something you have to see. But we’ll have to hurry.”

“Of course there is,” Bail muttered, “Lead the way.”

Cassian turned and dove again. Bail followed.

Breath rushing in, out, rasping dully through the rebreather, he found Cassian, a thin, lithe figure streaking away, deep into the clear waters. He wondered how he ever could have missed this, this _essence_ of the sea that was now so very apparent in his friend’s very nature--tumultuous, constant, with a violent grace.

Deeper still they descended until, up ahead, there grew a light, glowing brighter even than the school of groupers. Cassian turned, suspended in time, and waved him on hurriedly. Bail redoubled his efforts, shoulders straining, lungs aching.

As he approached, he realized--that wasn’t a light. Those were _fish_. Magnificent jewelfish, bioluminescing deep beneath the surface of the lake, hundreds and hundreds of them streaking through the night, each at least as long as he was tall, massive tail fins cutting the water in eerie silence.

Cassian floated beside him, goggles pulled down around his neck, eyes reflecting the rainbow of life streaming by.

They watched the last of the jewelfish stream by, leaving behind glowing trails of light.

Cassian swam for the surface. Bail followed.

They bobbed in silence for a short while, Cassian breathing deeply, Bail floating on his back, watching the stars, which now paled in comparison to the procession of life he had just witnessed.

“We should probably get back to the boat,” Cassian said, “The sun’ll be rising soon, and it’s time for the nets.”

"But we haven't caught anything yet," Bail said.

"Are you telling me you want to stay out here?"

"Forget I said anything," Cassian said, grinning.

He knifed across the surface, rolling, turning on his back like an otter, spouting water from his mouth in a fountain of spray, then turned, twisting, again onto his stomach, then back around and around again, nevertheless driving a straight line back to the ship.

Bail thought it a bit excessive.

At the ship, Ro reached down and pulled him back onto the deck.

“Where’s Cassian?” he asked, gratefully accepting a worn towel from the fisherman.

“Went back in with the ‘gun,” Ro replied, shaking his head in amusement, “Said you could help with the nets.”

So _that_ was how it was going to be.

Bail shrugged easily, tugging his shirt and trousers back on.

“I’ll give it my best,” he said.

“Right,” Ro said, still staring at him, posture screaming discomfiture.

Bail set the towel down.

“I’m here because Cassian asked me to come,” he said mildly, “And because I think it’s important to him, somehow, that the two of us understood each other.”

“You know him well.”

“Not nearly as well as I should. Our acquaintance is a recent thing.”

“And yet,” Ro said, “He trusts you.”

Bail looked at him in surprise.

“Does he?”

“We bear the same grief, but he has shared his with you,” Ro looked away quickly, distantly, “In the twenty years since the loss of our people, I have shared mine with no one.” He shrugged. “Who would ever choose to understand such a thing?”

He fixed Bail with an unrelenting gaze.

“You are a rare man, Bail Organa,” he said.

“I’m just a man,” Bail replied.

“Yes, a good man. A good father."

Bail looked at him sharply, but Ro smiled, certainty mingled with sadness.

“Neither of them would have minded,” the fisherman said. He clasped his hands together. “Now,” he said, “Cast nets.”

“I apologize in advance,” Bail said, standing.

Ro laughed.

* * *

There, out on the glassy lake, Ro showed him how to heave his massive throw net over the side so that it landed flat, how to grip the handline to haul it back in, bursting with small, shivering melluts, which Ro said would not bite hooks.

“You usually do this by yourself?” Bail wheezed, after they had hauled in the first net together.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Ro replied, slamming the lid of a large, transpariplast tank shut, “Why don’t you give it a try?”

Bail tried.

He thought it a fairly decent throw until he realized, upon hearing the violent imprecations spouting from the melluts inside the net, that he had also captured a rather irritated Rebel intelligence officer.

Ro roared in laughter, a tremendous sound from such a small man,  and Bail couldn’t help but join in, hardly able to help Cassian scramble to his feet once they’d untangled him.

“I’m glad you two have become such good friends,” he said stiffly, slapping a massive saberfish to Ro’s chest, “I see I shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to find a peace offering.”

“I haven’t seen saberfish in years,” Ro said, staring down trophy in his hands.

“Yeah?” Cassian sat heavily on a tank filled with frantic melluts, “Neither have I.”

Bail tossed him a towel, and Cassian clumsily dried himself off, movements slow, burdened without the buoyancy of a life-giving water.

“Well,” Ro said, packing the saberfish away in ice, “Thanks. I might just mount that and send it to you.”

“Yeah, we’ll hang it over the front door,” Cassian said, smirking at Bail.

“Do that and you can spend the rest of your time on Alderaan in this boat,” Bail returned.

Cassian shrugged.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said.

* * *

Net after net, they cast and hauled and cast again, filling each of Ro’s many tanks with densely-packed melluts.

Bail watched Cassian out of the corner of his eye and banished him, scowling, to the forward pulpit the third time he fumbled a throw, cursing, pale in the pink glow of approaching sunrise.

Bail cast the net himself, watching it sink with satisfaction. Ro stood by his side and helped him reel it in.

“He mentioned you’ve been keeping a close eye on him,” the fisherman said.

“Complaining bitterly all the while, I presume.”

“Of course.”

Bail paused to watch Cassian, who sat, leaning forward on the rail, chin pillowed in his arms, looking out at the brightening horizon.

“He’s had a rough time,” he said simply.

“It looks like it.”

Bail looked sharply at him again, tensing.

“Those are blaster scars,” Ro said, jerking his chin towards Cassian’s back, “On his shoulder. Recent. I’ve seen my share.”

He turned to latch the last of the tanks shut.

“I won’t ask,” he said slowly, “But I can guess. And if he’s anything like his parents, well--” he paused, straightening, looking Bail in the eye, “--I know.”

Cassian turned, as if he sensed that he was the subject of discussion. He saw them looking at him and scowled, clambering to his feet.

“We should be heading back,” he said, stepping nimbly towards them, “His Majesty’s got some important business to take of, I’m sure.”

Ro hauled up the anchor, and Bail settled by the tiller again, steering them back by sight now, Aldera a gleaming, white beacon glowing in the early light. Cassian returned to the forward pulpit, relishing the wind in his face, the rise and fall of the bow as they crested small waves, clear fresh spray clinging to his eyes.

They made landfall just as the other early-rising market stall owners were arriving, hauling the day’s produce down the sandy beach with repulsorlift carts. Cassian hopped out first to tug the boat higher above the tideline, then set about assembling the plastisteel poles of Ro’s stall.

Bail escaped notice for the roughly half hour before full light, and then the curious looks and whispers began. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d been seen in public beyond formal occasions--he was well-known system-wide for his casual approach to domestic politics, having once famously ruled an interplanetary dispute in favor of the winner of an arm-wrestling match--and he was a frequent customer at the lakeside market, when time and the apoplectic Royal Guard allowed for it, but this was certainly the first time he’d been seen with his shirtsleeves rolled up, heaving crates of fish around, _physically_ working.

He quite enjoyed it, in fact, the simplicity of the task.

Genru had said much the same in that last holomessage.

Cassian stopped beside him, setting down the final ice-packed crate.

“Do you need to go?” he asked, not referring to the time.

Bail looked down at him and only just refrained from putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Not yet,” he said.

They remained until the city had begun to buzz with morning commuters, bidding Ro a regretful goodbye, a large packet of mellut under each arm. Bail nodded graciously at each market stall they passed on the way back to their speeder, sometimes stopping to shake a hand or speak a few words in greeting. Cassian hung back then, warily.

He flew them back to the palace, bones aching, strangely satisfied.

“I’m glad you asked me,” Bail said, when they were caught in traffic on the main hyperlane to the city center, “I enjoyed that.”

“Would you come again?” Cassian asked, smiling slightly.

“Of course,” Bail replied, “Though I don’t think my lung capacity’s going to increase any at my age.”

“Well, you can’t have everything,” Cassian said.

Bail looked out at his city, at the soaring mountains and gleaming waters beyond. At the young man seated beside him.

“Sometimes,” he replied, “I think you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long-delayed, fairly important author's note:
> 
> I'd love to hear some thoughts on which universe I should shove this into-- _Sacrifice_ (canon, current plan), _Alternatively,_ (AU), or... something else ( _major_ AU, in which case there will be a sequel, so help me). The next chapter is a major junction, and after that, it'll be the point of no return.
> 
> I've always been a militantly canon writer ( _Alternatively,_ being a major exception), but there's so much potential here for exploration beyond the scope of _Rogue One_ that I'm throwing my hands up in the air and leaving it up to the two of you who actually read this thing to decide. Bonus votes to those who can name the artist behind each chapter title.
> 
> The next update will be either on Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on what you lot decide.
> 
> Cheers, all.


	9. I Forget Where We Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author makes a highly questionable decision.
> 
> General TW.

Bail wearily slouched up the final flight of stairs to the residential level of the palace, freshly disconnected from a two-hour holo conference with the Alliance High Command that had somehow mutated into a six-hour shouting match with representatives from Dantooine. Force, he’d forgotten how difficult Mon Mothma could be when someone nudged her over the edge.

He paused at the top of the stairs, head cocked. To his right, the long, curved hall to the master suite. To his left, the recently-occupied spare room that, once upon a time, had been his as a boy.

There it was again.

Bail sighed.

He turned left.

At the door, he paused again, listening, hovering, uncertain.

He knew, of course, about the nightmares, the night terrors. He’d refused to share a bed with Breha for months after that night at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He understood.

Bail rapped on the door sharply.

“Cassian,” he said, loudly.

Another sound of distress, audible pain.

Bail tried the door, knowing it would be unlocked. He pushed his way in, gentle light streaming in from the hall.

“Cassian,” he repeated into the dark.

A quick, desperate breath. A whispered plea.

He felt his way to the light switch and flicked it on, flooding the room in familiar brightness.

Cassian twitched fitfully on the couch, bed neatly made, untouched. Bail approached cautiously, hand outstretched, and touched his shoulder.

Cassian jacknifed awake, violently twisting away, landing on the floor with a muffled cry.

“Cassian,” Bail repeated, louder, “It’s just me.”

Sweat-soaked, wide-eyed, Cassian stared up at him from the floor, locked in place, trembling.

“Cassian?” Bail stepped closer, crouched, knees popping.

Cassian scrambled away, pressing himself back up against the wall, breath shuddering.

Bail stayed where he was.

“It was just a dream,” he said.

Cassian blinked, hard, eyes flitting around the room, from the bed, to the dresser, to the open door, then back to Bail.

“You’re dead,” he whispered.

“No,” Bail said, rising and shutting the door. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch. “I’m not.”

“Alderaan--” Cassian choked, “No.” He shook his head violently. “You’re dead.”

“No,” Bail repeated, “I’m right here.”

Cassian scrubbed his hands over his face, hands shaking badly.

“The Empire,” he stammered, “Like Scarif. Alderaan--destroyed. Everyone--”

“-- _Cassian_ ,” Bail interrupted, forcefully, “It was a dream.”

Cassian shook his head, hard.

“It was real,” he insisted, “I know it was.”

“No, we’re all still here,” Bail repeated again, “In one piece. Mostly.” He paused. “You might have given me a few grey hairs there.”

Cassian let out a breath, almost hysterically. He pinned quivering hands between quivering knees.

Bail reached out and clapped him gently on the shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, standing and offering a hand, “I’ll fix us some caf.”

Cassian looked up at him, fear having left him transparent.

“Stop that,” Bail said, “I wasn’t going to be getting much sleep tonight anyways. I’ve had some news from Yavin 4.”

At that, the guilt eased, slightly, and Cassian took his hand, still trembling.

“What is it?” he demanded roughly, standing unsteadily.

“You’re about to be getting a lot more company,” Bail replied, “We’ve had to evacuate our headquarters on Dantooine.”

* * *

Cassian sat at the dining table, staring blankly at nothing.

The Rebellion was on the run again. Backs pressed against the wall, they would be massing on Yavin 4. For what, he didn’t yet know.

Bail nudged a mug of caf into his hand.

Cassian took it mindlessly, caught a whiff of it, and only just managed to stagger to the ‘fresher in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Shuddering, aching, he sat back against the wall, eyes closed, praying for the galaxy to stop spinning so he could make sense of--anything.

A soft knock at the open door.

He didn’t respond, swallowing hard, struggling to crush the rising swell of emotion.

“Breha says I make pretty good caf,” Bail said, sitting next to him, “But now I might have to consider the fact that my wife has been lying to me for over thirty years.”

Cassian focused on breathing, in, out, in, out, like the tide, but stuttering, stalling, seizing, unstoppable--

Bail was quiet. Cassian could feel his eyes on him, something distant, solid, warm. He lurched away, needing to get--out, away from stifling certainty, security that wouldn’t last--

He stood, or tried to, the world tilting on him halfway up. Glimpses of something dark, massive, looming, a planet--gone, snuffed out of existence--a blind man, dead, on a sullied beach--

And then that was the end.

* * *

Bail lunged forward, seizing Cassian around the waist as he crumpled, gathering him in his arms and lowering him gently to the ‘fresher floor.

“ _Guard!_ ” he roared. “Cassian?” he demanded, hovering, heart pounding, “Cassian, can you hear me?”

He checked for breathing and pulse. Both present, both faint, erratic.

A massive clattering of feet as the Royal Guard, clad in house white, burst into the room, blasters drawn. Bail crouched protectively over Cassian.

“Get the doctor,” he commanded.

“Your Majesty--”

“I’m fine,” Bail snapped, “Go.”

Two men ran off, boots pounding.

“Help me get him to the sitting room,” Bail said tersely to the remainder, “Get his feet. Carefully.”

They maneuvered their way through the kitchen to the sitting room, settling Cassian on the settee.

“Get a blanket,” he demanded.

Another of the Guard hurried to the cupboard by the stairs and returned with the thick blanket Breha favored as a throw in the winter months. Bail snatched it out of the woman’s hands with a muttered thanks, throwing it over Cassian, who remained pale, still, unmoving.

Kriel Rekkon, House Organa’s physician-in-residence, burst into the sitting room, half-dressed, medical bag in hand, closely flanked by the two Guard members who had gone to fetch him.

“Out,” Bail ordered, “Everyone out. Kriel--” he beckoned the doctor over.

“What happened?” Kriel asked, pulling a medisensor out of his bag and crouching by the settee.

“He collapsed in the ‘fresher,” Bail said, stepping aside, “I honestly should have had him see you sooner, but--” he made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

Kriel looked up at him, bright eyes questioning.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well--” Bail broke off, hesitated, “I don’t think it’s anything serious, at least not physically.”

Kriel glanced down at the medisensor.

“Bail? What’s going on?”

Brail looked up at his wife, wrapped in his robe on the stairs. She caught sight of Cassian on the settee and descended the rest of the way to his side.

“You’re at least half-right,” Kriel said to Bail, “There’s nothing physically wrong with him--not acutely, at least--those blaster wounds look like they’re still mending, and his temperature is a little elevated, but it’s nothing that would really explain this. What _happened?_ ”

Breha looked questioningly up at Bail and slid her hand into his. He relaxed marginally

“He--ah--had a dream. A nightmare,” Bail said, “I woke him up, and we came down for caf, but he couldn’t keep his down.”

Kriel looked at him shrewdly.

“You know what I’m going to say, Bail,” he said.

“I understand,” Bail replied wearily, “Is there anything you could prescribe to help him sleep? I’m pretty sure he won’t take them, but I’d like to try.”

“I’ll have something sent over,” Kriel said, standing.

“Thank you,” Bail said, shaking his hand.

He and Breha watched him leave.

Once the door had closed, Bail slipped out of Breha’s hand and sank onto the caf table, rubbing his face.

“He was hallucinating, I think,” he said suddenly, “Completely out of his mind when I woke him up. Terrified.”

Breha sat next to him.

“What are we _doing?_ ” Bail demanded angrily, “What have we _done?_ ”

Breha said nothing.

“We’ve had to evacuate Dantooine,” Bail said, “We’re consolidating forces on Yavin 4, but for what? We’d never win an armed conflict against the Empire.” He sucked in a breath. “He dreamed I was dead. That we were all dead. That Alderaan was gone. That’s what scared him the most.” He turned to Breha, pain in the deep lines of his face, “What kind of farked up galaxy do we live in where a man’s only reaction to being loved is fear--” he broke off, swallowing words that nonetheless escaped, “--fear of losing it?”

Breha said nothing.

“Is it worth it?” he demanded, “When this is the cost?”

She looked up at him.

“You’re a good man, Bail,” she said.

He put his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't going where you think it's going.


	10. Sometime Around Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance.

Bail was watching the exact moment Cassian woke.

A sharp intake of breath, pained, eyes opened, unseeing. A fumbling at the thick blanket.

“Cassian,” he said quietly.

Wide eyes, disarmed and disarming, turned in his direction.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian croaked.

Bail moved from his chair by the window to perch on the edge of the caf table.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

Cassian blinked owlishly at him.

“I think,” he said, slowly levering himself up.

Bail handed him a glass of water.

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asked, after taking a small sip.

“You passed out in my ‘fresher,” Bail replied.

“Don’t you have  more important things to do?” Cassian rasped, settling the glass in his lap.

“No,” Bail snapped.

Cassian looked up at him, confused.

“Remember that,” Bail said sharply. He stood, tall and straight. “I’ll have our doctor come up to have a look at you.”

He swept out of the room.

Cassian sat.

* * *

Kriel Rekkon sat back in the large armchair and frowned.

“Temperature’s still a bit elevated,” he said, placing the mediscanner on the caf table, “Just keep an eye on that.”

“Anything else?” Bail asked from across the room, arms folded.

Kriel eyed Cassian, who stared stubbornly straight ahead.

“How much do you weigh?”

“Nine stone or so.” Stiffly. “It’s been a while.”

Kriel turned to Bail.

“Feed him,” he said.

Bail nodded.

“Call me if anything changes,” Kriel said, gathering his things.

“I will,” Bail said grimly, showing him to the door.

When he returned to the sitting room, he found Cassian sitting on the very edge of the settee, shoulders stiff, staring at the floor.

Without looking up, he said, “I can take care of myself.”

Bail said nothing. He stood in the doorway, silent.

Cassian turned towards him.

“I’ll be heading down to the Senate House,” Bail said to the opposite wall, “Comm me if you need anything.”

He turned and left. Cassian heard the front door shut.

He bit his lip, familiar guilt, guilt, always guilt, rising.

* * *

Breha returned to the east wing of House Organa that night after a remarkably productive evening in with the High Council of Alderaan. Fully expecting to find her bleeding-heart husband hovering over a scowling Rebel intelligence officer, she was surprised to be greeted only by her own echoing footsteps. Frowning, she put the kettle on and curled up in her favorite armchair, datapad in hand, absently scrolling through the day’s meeting minutes.

She heard the door rattle open close to midnight, and Bail slouched into the sitting room, tension radiating from the rigid line of his shoulders.

“Hey,” she said, clicking off her datapad.

“Hey,” he replied, pausing at the sight of the empty settee, “How was your day?”

“Finally wrapped up that deal with the Merchant Guild,” Breha said, eyeing him, “Where’ve you been?”

“Senate House,” Bail replied, sinking into the chair opposite hers, “Where’s Cassian?”

“I don’t know,” Breha said, “I half expected you to be hanging over him the rest of the day. Didn’t you clear your schedule?”

Bail looked at her sharply.

“He’s not here?” he asked.

“Bail,” she said, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” her husband replied in a tone that meant _something_.

He stood restively, hands in his pockets, and paced to the large windows to the east overlooking Aldera Lake.

Breha watched him struggle to find composure, recognizing worry, uncertainty--regret?

“Bail?” she asked again.

He turned away from her, head bowed.

At this, Breha stood, alarmed.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded, “Bail?”

He shook his head, rubbing his hand across his face.

“I--” his voice broke. He shook his head again, lost, frustrated. “I can’t explain it.”

He was embarrassed, Breha realized.

And with that, she immediately understood.

“You want to think of him as your son,” Breha said, “You already do. But you’re not sure if that’s what he wants.” She paused significantly. “Or needs.”

Bail turned to look at her, city lights dull on the side of his face, light and dark, mixing.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he said bleakly.

* * *

Like a holovid stuck on replay, Cassian found himself drunk in a bar well after midnight, an itch in the back of his mind, an irrepressible anger in his chest, nameless, directionless.

This time at least, he was still possessed of enough sense to remove himself from the pub, staggering outside, a thousand eyes on his back, accusing. He weaved between the streetlights, given a wide berth by passing pedestrians whose very presence hammered a nebulous guilt into his skull, pulsing to the beat of his traitorous heart.

He didn’t deserve it. Whatever it was. Whether or not it was even being offered. It was worth too much--so much he couldn’t possibly match. Or lose. Again.

The stars were dimmer in the city, pale imitations of splendor in an ink-dark sea, drowned by noise, a reverberating crash of life that shifted the ferrocrete beneath his feet.

He sat, hard, in a narrow side passage between a pub and a library. He heard the soundless explosion, the wordless, agonising disintegration of millions in a careless breath. He recognized the spectre of the Empire, the sickly cold impersonality, the callous indifference.

That had been no dream. That had been certainty.

And yet--how?

This question, too, drowned in the swell of his thoughts, the pitch and roll of the city.

He forced himself to his feet. There was something he needed to do. Something, urgently crying out in the back of his mind. Clinging to the library’s brick facade--all a facade, everything-- he lurched out into the street, trembling, reeling, casting himself wide, tugged back by an invisible line.

“ _Jeron_.” A voice, unwanted, familiar. “Fark.”

Hands on his shoulders, pressing, insistent.

“Fark off,” he snarled.

“You’re out of your mind, you arse. I’ve been searching for you half the night.”

Something did not compute. He imagined the tiny, invisible retraction of Kay’s head when he encountered something unexpected by even the infinite calculations in his mind. Instinct bubbled over, and he reared back, fist sloppily raised.

Those same hands pinned his arms to his side.

“Don’t make a scene, Jer.” A growl in his ear, very close, smelling of the sea.

“Let go of me,” he demanded.

“Uh huh.”

A shrill whistle, several shouted curses, and possibly the crunch of shattered cartilage later, he was bundled unceremoniously into the rear seat of a landspeeder, head hitting the door with just enough force to right the world for a few moments.

“Ro,” he mumbled, blinking at the silhouette above him.

“Shut the fark up, you lumet.”

He closed his eyes at that, spinning, spinning, floating, sinking.

Interminably, the speeder lurched to a stop, and he was bundled out again amidst much swearing. His knees buckled upon impact with solid earth, and he gave in to it. Less distance to the ground meant less splatter when he emptied the contents of his stomach again.

When he was done with that, hands hauled him roughly to his feet.

“Thank the Force,” came another voice, also familiar, also unwanted, also complicated, “Where was he?”

“The Latone Quarter,” Ro replied, over his head, “Doing his level best to get hit by a speeder.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” he slurred, “I need to--”

“--shut the _fark_ up,” Ro snapped. Then, to the other tall, ruthlessly comforting presence at his side, “You need to keep an eye on him. He’s probably had enough to kill.”

“You’re all going to die,” he blurted, wrenching himself free, “You need to get away--” he staggered, “--get away from--”

The night pitched, roared--

“--from me--"

\--and swallowed him whole.


	11. Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail has several conversations.

“When I said to feed him, I didn’t mean for you to stuff him with Coreillian brandy,” Kriel Rekkon said, snapping his mediscanner shut in irritation, “His BAC’s .35%. A little higher and he’d be dead.”

Bail glanced at Ro, who didn’t meet his eye.

“I know,” Bail replied, “But he’ll be alright?”

“He’s going to be karking miserable the next few days, but yes,” Kriel said, “He’ll be fine.” He eyed Bail sharply. “He needs help, Bail, whoever he is, but I don’t think you need me to tell you that.”

“I know,” Bail repeated, “Thanks.”

Ro sat on the sofa, staring blankly out the large transpariplast doors leading to the upper-level balcony. Jeron--Cassian, whatever name he went by--lay in bed, silent and still. There was a lot of Lian in him, this ferocious denial of vulnerability.

The instinct for violence.

He looked up when Bail returned, eyes dark-ringed with weary guilt.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Ro said, “Whatever happened. It’s just the way he is.”

Bail sat across from him, shoulders heavy.

“I know,” he said.

Ro looked at him measuringly.

“What was all that about everyone dying?” he asked.

Bail winced.

“He… had a dream. A nightmare. Yesterday. He said Alderaan was destroyed.” Bail paused. “That I was dead.”

Ro raised his eyebrows.

“He has these dreams often?”

“Fairly, or so I’ve heard. But usually not with this sort of reaction.”

Ro looked away, letting the conversation lapse.

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Bail said suddenly, “For finding him.”

Ro shrugged uneasily.

“When one receives a 'call from the Queen of Alderaan, one typically tends to obey. Besides,” he swallowed, “I owe him at least that much.”

“You knew his parents.”

“I did.”

“You were on Carida.”

“I was.” Sharply.

Bail looked at him shrewdly, keen, cutting.

“I think you and Cassian have more in common than you might think,” he said, finally.

“Oh, I don’t think he’d be glad to hear that,” Ro muttered.

Bail hesitated for just the briefest of moments.

“You were Republic Intelligence,” he said.

Ro jerked his head up, tense. Some of that drained away when he met Bail’s gaze.

“I was,” he replied. Then, bitterly, “But not for very long.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Bail said, sitting forward, “Why did you flee Carida after the protests? You had been assigned--”

“--What is this, an interrogation?” Ro snapped.

“No,” Bail replied easily, leaning back, “Just trying to fill in some blanks.”

He looked over at Cassian again, something hard, undefinable, fiercely protective flickering across his face. He stood, gesturing for the door.

“Come,” he said abruptly, “It’s late, and we’ve rooms to spare.”

“You want me to spend the night in the palace,” Ro said flatly, “A Republic spy.”

“Former Republic spy, I think,” Bail said, turning away, “The Republic is dead.”

* * *

“This is getting ridiculous,” Bail said, staring down at him, “I’ve spent more nights with you this week than I have with my wife.”

Cassian blinked.

“If you’re going to vomit, turn that way,” Bail continued, “I just showered.”

“What?” Cassian croaked.

“We need to talk,” Bail said.

“...What?” Cassian repeated.

“Or maybe that should wait.”

Cassian squinted up at him.

“You’re here,” he said.

“Of course I am,” Bail replied.

* * *

“He _what!?_ ” Kes blurted.

“How is he doing now?” Shara asked.

“Better,” Bail replied, shifting in his office chair, “I’ll have him give you a ‘call when he wakes up.”

* * *

“What’s his prognosis?” General Draven demanded.

Bail caught the look Mon Mothma shot in his direction.

“Good,” he replied

“When will he be fit for duty?”

“In my opinion, never,” Bail said sharply, “The man's nerves are shot. But I do appreciate your concern.”

“Do not think me unsympathetic, Senator,” Draven snapped, eyes hardening, flickering blue, “But this is war, and we have need.”

“Undoubtedly,” Bail returned, “I’ll keep you informed of any change in his condition.”

He severed the connection.

* * *

“Cassian.”

Bail stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

Cassian looked up from his datapad.

“Yeah,” he said warily. At the look on Bail’s face, he said, “We’re going to have the talk.”

“Yes.”

Bail sat on the sofa. Cassian put his datapad down and braced himself.

“I’m not good at this sort of thing,” Bail said.

“You’re a politician,” Cassian pointed out, “All you _do_ is talk.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

“Bail--” Cassian began, shifting uncomfortably.

“--No,” Bail interrupted sharply, “you don’t get to do that,”

“What?”

Bail pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Shut up and just _listen_ , would you?”

Cassian closed his mouth.

Bail leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and steepled his hands before his face.

“You will always have a place here,” he said finally, “This is not out of obligation. It’s not because General Draven ordered you here. It’s not because I knew Genru. It’s not even because I know it’s what you need. It’s purely selfish, in fact.” He sat back and looked Cassian in the eye. “It’s because I care, very deeply, about you. No matter the consequences, real or imagined, present or future.”

Cassian watched him, expressionless. He swallowed.

“You don’t know what you’re--”

“--Cassian,” Bail said, an unfamiliar note of strain in his voice, “You don’t know who Leia’s parents were.”

There it was again, that strange, familiar thrum in the air, resonant, welcoming.

“I don’t think you’ve left me with much of a choice,” Cassian said quietly, finally.

“No. I’m good at that sort of thing.”

Cassian looked away, crooked and shy. Bail smiled.

“Welcome home,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like a logical halfway point.


	12. Between Me and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude: Cassian goes to university for, ostensibly, a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the conversation in here refers to the “Beginnings” miniseries (Chapters 15 and 16) in _Sacrifice_.

The University of Alderaan was over seven hundred years old. It had been founded by the philosopher Collus, seemingly on a whim, and its modular approach to education had quickly spread across the galaxy.

This was information Cassian had never--and still did not--care to know.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, pulling at the collar of his starched tunic.

“Say that one more time,” Bail said, teeth gritted, caught in the morning gridlock, “And you can get out right here.”

Cassian peered over the side of the speeder down at the streets of Alderaan far, far below. He looked back up at Bail.

“I’d rather not, thank you,” he replied politely.

Bail sighed, drumming his fingers on the controls.

“This is your own fault, you know,” Cassian said, “I don’t need to be chauffeured.” He paused significantly. “Unless, of course, by flying me around, you’re avoiding unwanted responsibilities.”

“Shut up,” Bail replied.

“Like that holocall with General Draven I know he’s been after you about.”

Bail looked sharply at him.

“What do you know about that?” he asked.

“He wants to know when I’ll be returning,” Cassian said, “He’s been leaving increasingly irritated holomessages on my datapad, so I’m sure he’s been after you too.”

“Have you sent him a reply yet?” Bail asked carefully.

“No,” Cassian replied, staring straight ahead.

“Cassian--” Bail began.

“--I just need some time to think about it,” Cassian said, turning to look at him, voice level.

Bail considered him, many words struggling to break free. He shoved them back down.

“I’ll shut up now,” he said.

Cassian smiled to himself, squinting out across the lanes and lanes of hypertraffic to the vast, glittering expanse of Aldera Lake.

Bail caught him looking and said, “You talk to Ro recently?”

Cassian shook his head.

“I should probably drop by today. Or tomorrow,” he raised an eyebrow, “Depending on how long this takes.”

“I’m telling you,” Bail said with fond exasperation, “It’s just an informal meeting.”

He sighed in relief as the traffic droid flashed green, opening up the throttle and weaving casually across lanes.

“I still don’t understand why we have to meet at the university,” Cassian said, over the rush of wind.

Bail glanced over at him.

“I told you,” he replied, “Alderaan’s military works on rotation through the university. Yes,” he said, at Cassian’s look, “Everyone. Even commanding generals.”

“Did you?”

“Technically, I wasn’t ever commissioned,” Bail replied, banking sharply and peeling away along the winding hyperlane that led up to the university, “So never in that capacity, no. I did complete my studies there, though, and I taught for a few years before my father was named Viceroy.”

“You _taught?_ ”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Bail said wryly.

Cassian laughed, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“You have to remember,” Bail continued, “I wasn’t born into _the_ Royal House--there are a twenty-two of them, you know. I never really expected to be Viceroy until Master C’baoth negotiated the results of the Ascendancy Contention.”

Cassian looked at him curiously.

“Master C’baoth?” he repeated.

“Jedi,” Bail replied, neatly swinging around a large, lumbering hovercruiser.

“Jedi,” Cassian repeated, digesting the information.

Bail huffed in amusement.

“Did you know many of them?” Cassian asked, “The Jedi?”

Bail was silent for a long moment.

“I did,” he said at last, “I worked closely with the Jedi in the last days of the Republic.”

Cassian settled back in his seat, tactfully withdrawing.

They swung around another large bend, and the University of Alderaan rose before them, gleaming white through thick, dark trees, tall and proud. Bail set the speeder down on a grassy field and hopped out. Cassian followed, struck immediately by the stillness, the silence.

“We’re pretty far from the city center,” Bail said in response to his unspoken question, “It’s usually relatively quiet up here, especially out of term.” He gestured across the grass. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

Cassian followed, tugging at his borrowed tunic as he did.

Bail smirked but said nothing.

“This is a very bad idea,” Cassian muttered.

Bail ignored him and strode up a set of wide, white synthstone steps, pushing open the tall, oaken doors to the building with a quiet rasping of hinges. Cassian craned his neck, eyes darting high and low, left and right, devouring the warm wood paneling that glowed, soft and warm, in the light streaming from the massive, transpariplast dome above that joined the within with the without.

He realized he had stopped short in the middle of the room, staring up at the sky, feeling both here and there. In and out.

“This building,” Bail said, standing in the shadows off to the side, “Is seven hundred and sixty-four years old. This room was the first completed at the university.”

“You know a lot about this place,” Cassian said, reluctantly lowering his gaze from the dazzling sky that, inside, appeared somehow brighter and clearer.

“It’s common knowledge on Alderaan,” Bail replied.

“Knowledge,” Cassian said, looking at him, “Common.”

“I guess you could also put it that way.”

Cassian shook his head.

“Alderaan,” he muttered, smiling, stretching.

Bail waved him on again.

“We’ll have time to stop by all the main attractions after your very informal meeting,” he said drily, “By the end of today, you’ll be Alderaanian in all but name.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Cassian replied.

Bail led him up a long, narrow, twisting staircase, also made of wood worn smooth by age and use.

“For such an enlightened planet,” Cassian said, “You really seem to have a strong aversion to ‘lifts.”

“No one takes the ‘lifts around here,” Bail said, “It’s much nicer to walk.”

Cassian grunted.

The staircase ended at a single, four-paneled door. Bail knocked lightly before pushing it open. Cassian struggled with his collar one last time before following him into a small, warm office.

“Generals,” Bail said, once Cassian had reached his side, “this is Captain Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence. Cassian,” Bail said casually, “General Dodonna and General Rieekan, who I believe you’ve already met.”

Cassian inclined his head.

“That’s right,” he said, evaluating the men before him at a glance.

General Dodonna--while they’d never formally met, they had certainly crossed paths. Grey, weathered, cut from some Imperial cloth--a familiar mold of much of the Alliance High Command.

General Rieekan--recently promoted, he’d learned from Bail just the night before, but an early defector from Imperial forces. Very sharp, very blue eyes, incisive, calculating.

General Rieekan was the one in charge of covert operations in the Alderaan system.

“It’s good to meet you, General,” he said, standing at a hair less than rigid attention and addressing General Dodonna, who smiled briefly in acknowledgement, “And it’s good to see you again, General Rieekan.”

“Viceroy Organa has informed us of your interest in remaining on Alderaan to continue your work for the Rebellion,” General Rieekan said in lieu of greeting.

So was that how he’d put it?

Cassian methodically squelched the urge to glare at Bail, who casually took a seat between the generals at the round table.

“That’s correct,” he said.

“You’ve been with the rebellion for some time, Captain,” General Dodonna said, much more mildly, “The situation in the Outer Rim would be rather more difficult without the work you’ve done.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ve also spent quite some time on Naboo,” General Rieekan said, “Five assignments in the past two years.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“One involved your capture on Keren.”

“Yes, sir.”

General Rieekan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“I understand you’re here on unofficial extended medical leave,” he said, “Given the severity of the injuries you suffered on your last assignment.”

Cassian suppressed a swell of irritation and met General Rieekan’s eye evenly.

“That’s correct, sir,” he said.

Bail shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat.

“You haven’t spent much time in the Core,” General Dodonna said, interrupting mildly again, “It’s not quite the Outer Rim here.”

“I understand, sir.”

“And what, exactly, do you see yourself doing in the Alderaan system?” General Rieekan said sharply, “We have no place for assassins and saboteurs.”

“I am neither of those things, sir,” Cassian replied flatly, “I am an Intelligence officer.”

General Rieekan narrowed his eyes.

“I’m going to be blunt, Captain,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have you involved in covert operations in this system. You are very good at what you do, clearly, or you’d have been dead and buried on some Outer Rim backwater long ago, but intelligence work here has much less to do with survival than with politics.”

“In my experience, sir,” Cassian said, “The two have often been one and the same.”

“Is that so?”

Cassian swallowed an inadvisable retort.

“Yes, sir."

“Captain Andor did some fine work with the Treaty of Generis,” General Dodonna said, “He was with the Atrivis Sector Group for some time.”

General Rieekan sat back slightly.

“You must have been very young then,” he said.

“I was thirteen standard when I was recruited by General Draven, sir,” Cassian replied, “I was sixteen standard by the conclusion of negotiations.”

At the mention of General Draven, General Rieekan’s lips thinned slightly. Interesting.

“What, exactly, was your role in these negotiations?” he asked, arms folded.

Cassian hesitated.

“I was an advisor to Travia Chan, who--”

“--I know who Travia Chan is,” General Rieekan interrupted, “What I want to know is how a child became involved in negotiations for the first interplanetary Alliance treaty.”

“With respect, sir,” Cassian said tightly, “Age means nothing on Fest.”

“Spare me the poetry, Captain.”

“It’s not poetry, sir. It’s the truth. We’d been occupied by Separatist forces for years before the civil war broke out, and when Mantooine also declared war, there was no way anyone, even the children, could avoid involvement.”

“What was the nature of your relationship with the Separatist leader Travia Chan?”

“She wasn’t a Separatist leader, sir,” Cassian said sharply, “She--”

“--certainly didn’t support Republic forces, isn’t that so?”

“She never acted against them. You know that there was very little Republic presence in the Atrivis sector during the rise of the Empire, which she _did_ oppose. Violently.” Cassian took a breath, forcing back his temper. “Travia raised me,” he said, finally, “Without her, I wouldn’t have lasted long on Fest, or anywhere else. She knew we couldn’t fight a three-front war, so we reached a detente with the remaining Separatist forces that allowed us to jointly remove Imperial influence while maintaining defenses against Mantooine.”

“And you fought in this--these--conflicts.”

“I did. I also observed the negotiations that led to the creation of the Atrivis Resistance Group. When I said that Travia raised me, I mean that she taught me everything I knew.” His eyes flashed. “Fest and Mantooine had been enemies since the original colony on Fest splintered over three hundred years ago. You don’t need me to tell you that the process of finalizing a treaty between Fest and Mantooine was considerably more difficult than the establishment of relations with the Alliance.”

“Still, you’ve told me nothing of your precise role _in_ those negotiations.”

“That’s because I’m proving a point, _sir_ ,” Cassian snapped, “Believe me, I might not sound like you, and I might look just like another saboteur from the Outer Rim, but that doesn’t mean I’m not just as capable with my words as I am with my blaster.”

General Rieekan met his gaze for a long, pointed moment. And then something like satisfaction flitted across his angular features, easing the strain.

Cassian realized he’d miscalculated. His mind churned.

“Carlist Rieekan,” he said, suddenly, “I remember you now.”

The general raised his eyebrows.

“You were there when the treaty was signed,” Cassian continued, “Though in a civilian capacity, advising Senator Organa.”

He managed a quick glance at Bail, who was clearly struggling to contain a smile.

“You remember correctly, Captain,” General Rieekan said with wry amusement, “I was there on Fest ten years ago when the Treaty of Generis was signed. I was also there when the Viceroy offered you a position as his aide to the Galactic Senate.”

“What is this?” Cassian demanded of the three of them with more exasperation than anger.

General Dodonna laughed softly, deep and mellow.

“You have to admit, Cassian,” Bail said, “It’s been a while.”

Cassian glared at him.

“You said this was an informal meeting,” he growled, “Not a farking _test_.”

“An informal test, then,” General Dodonna said, “I apologize, Captain, for the misdirection, and I freely admit it was my idea.”

“Jan will be assuming command of all Rebel forces on Yavin 4 once the evacuation from Dantooine is complete,” Bail said by way of explanation, leaning back on the rear two legs of his chair, “That places the Rebellion’s half of the decision in his hands.”  _Not in General Draven's,_ was the unspoken clarification.

“We needed to see if you would be able to work in an entirely different capacity from your current posting in the Outer Rim,” General Dodonna continued, “Core intelligence is certainly a completely different beast than the Outer Rim’s rather more... aggressive negotiations.”

“No,” Cassian said sharply, “You just wanted to see whether or not I’ve completely lost my head.”

General Dodonna looked at him in surprise.

“I don’t blame you,” Cassian continued, “Though I’m surprised you didn’t bring up Scarif.” He glanced at Bail. “The last time someone brought up Scarif, I almost strangled him to death.”

“You do realize,” General Rieekan said drily, “That that really didn’t help matters, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Cassian replied, turning to him, “But you’ve already made up your mind. There are plenty of people capable of pulling blaster triggers and setting stun-charges. There are also plenty of people, though maybe not as many, capable of running my network of contacts in the Outer Rim. You’re satisfied that I won’t assassinate the first Imperial officer I find the moment you give me free rein. You’ve also decided I’d be of better use to the Rebellion here than on Yavin 4.”

“I think Kaytoo’s rubbed off on you,” Bail said in the ensuing silence, “Just a little.”

Cassian lifted a shoulder.

“I say what I think when I can,” he said.

General Rieekan also smiled, tightly, without wariness. He looked across Bail to General Dodonna and said, “Well?”

General Dodonna looked at Cassian, dark eyes thoughtful.

“The choice is yours, Captain,” he said finally, “Whatever you decide, you will always have a place on Alderaan.”


	13. In Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian finds himself in an unexpectedly literal spotlight,

Cassian irritably unbuttoned the stiff collar of his tunic as he stormed down the twisting, turning stairs, Bail hot on his heels.

“Cassian,” Bail called.

“What?” Cassian snapped, not stopping.

“Can you just hold on a moment?”

“Fark off.”

He stumbled on the last stair and nearly lost his footing, staggering out into the round wooden room with the transpariplast ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” Bail said, reaching out to steady him, refraining at the last moment.

“No you’re not,” Cassian replied, pushing his hair out of his eyes, “You’d do it again, don’t deny it.”

“Do what? Have you meet with a few old friends to see how you were?”

“ _Manipulate_ me,” Cassian spat. He turned away, ruthlessly tamping down his rising anger.

“You never would have agreed to it otherwise,” Bail replied mildly.

“So that makes it alright to lie to me?” Cassian snarled, “Fark, I should have known.”

“Can we avoid having this conversation again?”

“Which one? I don’t remember having a conversation about _lying to my face_.”

“No,” Bail said, exasperated, “I mean the one where I said I cared about you. If I’d known doing this would upset you so much, I wouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Cassian growled, frustrated, trapped, and paced away.

“Forget it,” he said, after a long silence, “I overreacted.” A pause. Thickly, “Sorry.”

“Trust goes both ways,” Bail said.

Cassian looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Your bunkmate might have mentioned that at some point in between shouting matches about how I was a manipulative old man,” Bail admitted.

Cassian snorted.

“That sounds familiar,” he replied.

They regarded each other from across the room.

“So,” Cassian said, after a pause, “The main attractions.”

“Really?” Bail cocked his head.

“Unless you’re dying to make that ‘call to Draven.”

“Main attractions,” Bail said.

* * *

“What did you teach when you were here?” Cassian asked curiously, hands in his pockets, striding easily beside Bail through warm, quiet halls.

Bail looked down at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“Guess,” he said.

Cassian shot him a withering look.

“Strip dejarik,” he said trenchantly.

Bail sighed.

“Bail, I’ve had maybe three years, combined, of formal education in my life,” Cassian said, “It’s not like I even know what is actually taught at universities.”

“Well, I can tell you this--” Bail replied, “Definitely not strip dejarik.”

“History,” Cassian said.

“I thought it was a little obvious.”

Cassian shrugged.

“History of what?” he asked, “Alderaan? The Republic? The galaxy?”

“Language,” Bail replied.

“The history of language,” Cassian said flatly.

“That’s right.” Amusement laced Bail's voice.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Did you know that--”

Cassian held up a hand.

“No, and no thank you,” he said.

Bail laughed quietly, rounding a corner and waving Cassian up a blessedly short flight of stairs. He pushed open the small wooden door at the top, ducking his head to enter.

“The main attraction,” he said.

“A library,” Cassian said, staring, “Are those _books?_ ”

Bail laughed again, closing the door gently behind them.

“While the depository in Crevasse might be home to the galaxy’s largest, oldest library, we have here at the university some fairly obscure collections on human anthropology.”

Cassian stared at the rows and rows and rows of books, set snugly on wooden shelves that appeared carved from the walls themselves. Then Bail’s words registered.

“Anthropology?” he asked.

“How societies and cultures develop,” Bail said.

Cassian stiffened, realization dawning.

“You don’t--” he began.

“We do,” Bail said, smiling, and jerked his chin to the side, “This way.”

Bail politely greeted the librarian, a tall, elegant woman who returned his greeting with graceful familiarity, and led Cassian to a line of shelves set against the far wall.

“I understand Ro’s been telling you about Scarif,” he said, “But in the case that you ask something he can’t answer, there are always books. People always used to say that books were a dying species, but here on Alderaan, they’re alive and well.” He looked meaningfully at Cassian, “And much harder to purge than databanks.”

Cassian swallowed.

Bail ran his hand lightly across beautifully-bound leather spines, gently brushing gold lettering, scraps of bookmarked ribbon.

“Here,” he said, pulling a thin volume from a shelf just above eye-level. He handed it to Cassian, who gingerly took it from his hands as if afraid his breath would scatter it to dust. “It’s a general history of your people,” Bail explained, watching Cassian carefully, “Starting with the founding of the first colony three hundred years ago.”

“You’ve read this?” Cassian asked.

“I wrote it,” Bail replied.

Cassian almost dropped the book.

“You’re joking,” he said.

“No,” Bail replied, tapping the front cover, “I’m not.”

Cassian looked down, puzzling at the elaborate, scrolled script.

 

_Scarif: A History_

_B. P. Organa_

 

“Oh fark,” Cassian muttered, darting his eyes back up to Bail, “When did you write this?”

“A few years before your father left Alderaan,” Bail replied, “It was meant to be a side project, kind of an in-joke between us--I’d always known he’d leave eventually--but it kind of grew into this--” he waved his hand across the cover, “--thing.”

Cassian slowly, gently peeled back the cover and turned to a random page.

He blinked at the words, then looked back at the cover.

“You--” he stammered, “You wrote this in Scryllic.”

“And Basic,” Bail replied, “But this is the Scryllic edition, yes.”

Cassian looked up at him, uncomprehending.

“Your father and I were old friends,” Bail said, “He made it his personal mission to learn Scryllic before he left Alderaan, and I sort of volunteered to help.”

“I don’t even know if I can still read this,” Cassian admitted, flipping through the pages, “It’s been so long.”

“I think you’ll be fine,” Bail said. Turning back to the books, he said, “This whole shelf is on Scarif--don’t worry, I only wrote this one, so if you’re absolutely miserable, there are plenty of other options. Most of them are in Basic. I can probably find you translations for the others if you wanted.”

“I’ve never read a book before,” Cassian said dumbly.

“Just think of it like a really long mission briefing with no ultimate objective.”

Cassian snorted, looking up at the shelf, filled with weathered stories he suddenly found himself longing to understand.

“I’ll get you set up with unrestricted access,” Bail said, then, at the look on his face, added, “Don’t worry. We can do it without biosign recognition.”

They wandered back to the librarian at the front desk, who demurely greeted Bail again, quickly switching from Alderaanian to Basic when Cassian returned her question with a blank look.

“May I have the book for a moment?” she asked.

“Ah,” Cassian quickly handed it over, “Yes. Here.”

She took the book and scanned it with a quiet beep, then handed it back to him.

“That’s a good book,” she said, with sidelong glance at Bail.

“Flattery,” Bail replied.

Behind them, the door to the library burst open with a crash.

Cassian dropped the book and pushed Bail behind him, blaster at the ready.

A young man, rumpled and bespectacled, blinked at him from the entryway.

“Uh,” he said in Alderaanian, belatedly holding up his hands, “Don’t shoot?”

That, at least, Cassian understood.

“It’s alright, Cassian,” Bail said behind him, sounding dangerously close to laughter, “He’s fine.”

Cassian holstered his blaster and guiltily picked up the book, warily keeping an eye on the young man.

“Viceroy Organa,” the young man said brightly, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Eadem,” Bail replied warmly in Basic, “For some reason, I’m unsurprised to see you here out of term.”

“Lifelong student,” Eadem replied cheerfully, dropping his hands and straightening his tunic.

He peered curiously at Cassian, eyes large and dark behind his glasses.

“Eadem Telos,” he said, sticking out his hand with remarkable alacrity for one so recently held at blaster-point.

“Ah,” Cassian said, caught entirely off-guard. He took the young man’s hand. “Joren,” he said levelly, blurting the first thing that came to mind, “Joren Andor. Royal Guard.”

“Well, that explains the blaster,” Eadem said, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Cassian said, “Sorry about that,”

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Eadem continued, “I haven’t seen you around.”

“Captain Andor accompanied me back from my work on the Outer Rim,” Bail provided smoothly, “I wanted to show him around the University grounds--he’s a bit of an aspiring scholar himself.”

Cassian shot him a venomous look.

“Cool,” Eadem said. He caught sight of the book in Cassian’s hands. “What’ve you got there?”

Cassian turned it so he could see the cover.

“You’re in good hands, I see,” Eadem laughed, “That particular author’s got quite a way with words, or so I hear.”

Cassian smiled tightly.

“You read Scryllic?” Eadem asked, as if struck by a sudden thought.

“A little,” Cassian replied uncomfortably.

“Would you happen to speak it as well?”

Cassian blinked.

“I do,” he replied.

Eadem gave a wordless exclamation of something that sounded like relief.

“Viceroy--” he turned to Bail, “Would you mind if I borrowed Captain Andor for the next hour or so?” He glanced at the chrono on his wrist. “I’m giving a plenary lecture on Outer Rim languages in about ten minutes. I’d run up here in hopes of finding someone because I seem to have left my datachip with all the audio files I need back in my apartment, and you know how awful my Scryllic is.” He grinned, bright and excited. “Guess the Force was with me.”

Bail raised an eyebrow.

“Some things never change, I see,” he said mildly, “Sometimes, I wonder how you ever completed your degree.”

“It’s all thanks to you, Viceroy,” Eadem replied, with absolutely no trace of gravity.

Bail snorted.

“I’d rather like to see what my most troublesome former student has made of himself,” he said, turning to Cassian. “If that’s alright with you, Captain?”

Cassian hesitated.

“It’s not all that difficult--just an old poem--and everyone’ll just be reading the holotranslation anyways because I’m pretty sure no one in the audience will have even heard of Scryllic. Honestly, I’d ask the Viceroy if I didn’t think that would result in some sort of weird political thing,” Eadem said, almost bouncing on his feet. When Cassian still did not reply, he said, almost teasingly, “I’m in a bit of a bind here, Captain. Please don’t make me beg.”

“I can assure you, Captain,” Bail said, “It will be irritating.”

Cassian caught the gleam in his eye and sighed.

“Alright,” he muttered, struggling to mash his tongue around his Basic, softening his consonants into something that more represented a beleaguered Royal Guard from Fest than a beleaguered Rebel intelligence officer from Scarif.

“Great!” Eadem exclaimed.

Cassian heard the librarian at the front desk sigh as his voice echoed up to the ceiling.

“Here,” Eadem handed him a few sheets of flimsi from the inner pocket of his robes, “This is it. Have a look as we head over.”

Cassian tucked Bail’s book under his arm and shuffled through the pages of densely-packed text as they exited the library.

“Fark,” he swore under his breath, words swimming before him.

“What is it?” Bail asked lowly. Eadem hurried on before them, oblivious.

“I--ah,” Cassian hesitated, bringing the flimsi all the way up to his face.

“Can you read it?” Bail muttered.

“Of course,” Cassian choked, “I just, ah--” he squinted, blinked rapidly, “--The words are very small.”

“Don’t tell me you need reading glasses,” Bail hissed, “You’re less than half my age. Do you see _me_ with reading glasses?” Another thought occurred to him. “Force, and we gave you a _blaster?_ ”

Cassian brought the flimsi away from his face and glowered at him.

“My shooting is fine,” he snapped under his breath, thrusting the sheaf of flimsi at Bail, “ _You_ try reading this.”

Bail snatched the documents out of his hand.

“Oh,” he said, also squinting, “This actually is kind of small.”

Cassian snorted.

“I can ask him for a macrolens,” Bail offered.

“No need,” Cassian replied shortly, “I’ve memorized it.”

“What,” Bail said, “All of it?”

“No, just the first line,” Cassian irritably snatched the flimsi back, “Of course all of it.”

“How--”

“Alright, we’re just in here,” Eadem said, stopping outside another small wooden door. “Viceroy,” he said to Bail, “I don’t know if you want to have a seat or--”

“--I’ll wait backstage,” Bail said quickly, “No need to make this a ‘weird political thing.’”

“You mean steal my spotlight,” Eadem sniffed with a sly smile. He turned to Cassian, “You can wait off to the side too, until I call you up--then, it’ll just be reading the thing, and then you’re done. At most, it’ll be about ten minutes of stage time. How does the script look?”

“Small,” Cassian said drily.

“Read this line right here,” Eadem said suddenly, jabbing a finger at a line somewhere halfway down the second page.

Cassian squinted surreptitiously at the page and did so, fluently.

Eadem stared at him.

“Right,” he said, “Good.” Another pause. “Very good.”

He opened the door and gestured them in.

Blinking rapidly to adjust to the near-dark of the staging area, Cassian carefully positioned himself in front of Bail and hurried after Eadem towards the dim glow of the stage lights through the thick curtains.

Eadem pulled two folding chairs over from the wall and snapped them open. A young woman in a tight black shirt and trousers, obviously a stage hand, hurried over, pinning a microphone to his tunic and swatting his hand away when he fiddled with his in-ear monitor.

“It’ll be about fifteen minutes until you’re on,” Eadem said through it all, “Oh. Captain Andor, this is my assistant, Pia. She’ll get you connected with everything. Pia, this is Captain Andor with the Royal Guard. He’s my Force-blessing in disguise. And that guy next to him is the Viceroy or something. I think you might have seen him around before.”

Pia managed to look embarrassed for a moment, nodding a greeting at each of them before hurrying off again.

“I would be dead meat without her,” Eadem said.

“You’re hardly alive as it is,” Bail said drily, sitting and crossing one leg over the other.

“The live holocast will be on that wall behind you,” Eadem said, ignoring him, obviously flustered, “Have I mentioned that yet?”

There was a rumble as the doors to the lecture hall opened and the crowd flooded in.

“Ah, fark,” Eadem muttered, smoothing down his dark hair and fiddling with his tunic again.

Pia reappeared with a button microphone and in-ear transceiver for Cassian, helping him pin them on when it became clear he had no idea what was happening. She spoke quietly to Eadem in Alderaanian as she did so, tapping the chrono on her wrist.

“Ah…” Eadem moaned, running both hands through his hair and standing up in tufts.

“You’ll be fine,” Bail said, amused.

“Easy for you to say.” Eadem took a deep, shuddering breath, shaking out his arms. “Right. Fifteen minutes, and then I’ll say something like ‘here to read an excerpt of modern Scryllic is blah blah blah,’ sound good?”

“You do actually know my name, right?” Cassian asked, askance.

“Joren Andor,” Eadem replied, striding for the stage, “Captain. Royal Guard. Got it.”

After another deep breath, he swept through the curtains to a thunderous clatter of applause.

“Your former student?” Cassian said, “He’s very young.”

“He’s only a little older than you, I think,” Bail replied, “A bit of a prodigy, that one. He was Leia’s supervisor when she was here at the university.” He shook his head wryly. “She couldn’t ever take him seriously.”

Out on the stage, Eadem had begun his talk, smooth and confident, commanding.

Cassian glanced down at the sheaf of flimsi in his hands.

“You’re sure about this?” Bail asked.

“You ask me now,” Cassian replied, flat.

Bail smirked, scratching absently at his graying temples.

“So,” he said quietly, “Joren?”

Cassian winced slightly.

“Joreth Sward was an old alias,” he said, “I almost forgot he was supposed to be dead.”

Bail raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask. For that, Cassian was grateful. He stood restlessly, tugging at his collar again, and paced back and forth, soft nerfhide boots silent on the worn wood floor.

Bail watched him, the confident line of his shoulders, the sweep of the tunic as it ended mid-thigh, just long enough to conceal the slim profile of a silenced blaster. Distinctly military was his bearing, and yet--

Cassian caught him looking and shot him a quizzical smile, a restrained light of anticipation in his eyes.

Pia appeared suddenly from her mad rush through the wings, gesturing Cassian over.

“May the Force be with you,” Bail said gravely.

Cassian only just refrained from snapping some choice words and followed Pia to the curtain’s edge just as Eadem said, “--and here to read an excerpt from the traditional Scryllic poem _Mother in Dream_ , please welcome our special guest, Captain Joren Andor, of the Royal Guard.”

Pia gave him a little shove out of the wings, and he suddenly found himself onstage under a multitude of lights and eyes, greeted by polite applause. Uncertain, he turned towards Eadem, who gave him a small nod of encouragement.

Cassian held the sheets of flimsi out before him to maintain the illusion of reading and cleared his throat, suppressing a wince as it echoed through the cavernous lecture hall.

“Mother in Dream,” he began in Scryllic, throat dry. He paused, swallowed, and began again.

 

_“Beautiful flowers, do not pick them._

_They do not want to leave the earth’s embrace._

_Beloved mother, you hold my hand_

_And gently speak of their desires._

 

_You are far away, my mother._

_In my dreams, you hold my hand.”_

 

Distantly, he realized that he had forgotten to turn the page, that it was clear he spoke from memory, but he was lost, lost in memory, and it did not matter.

 

_“Wind, sand, overflowing, covers my eyes_

_I always long to hear my mother’s shout._

_Where are you, my mother?_

_I long to let you gently kiss me._

 

_You are far away, my mother._

_In my dreams, you kiss my face.”_

 

In the darkness of the staging area, Bail closed his eyes, the glaring holopicture flickering, wavering in his mind--a boy, calling.

 

_“You want me to be brave like the eagles in the clouds._

_You make me strong like flowers in the wind._

_When I raise my head and stride forward,_

_I know you will always be with me._

 

_You are far away, my mother._

_In my dreams, you hold me tightly.”_

 

Cassian faltered, stumbling under the weight of a hundred eyes, the weight of memory. Quietly, so softly he was sure no one could hear him, he repeated the final couplet.

 

_“You are far away, my mother._

_In my dreams, you hold me tightly.”_

 

In the ensuing silence, Cassian carefully lowered his sheaf of flimsi, not daring to look at Eadem, who stood stock-still at the lectern. Flushing dully, he sketched out half a bow towards the dark lecture hall.

The applause didn’t begin until he had stepped back into the safety of the wings. It was a primal, roaring thing, growing like the pounding of Cloudshape Falls, earnest, springing from something shared, pure and clear.

Bail was waiting for him, standing just off to the side. His eyes were bright.

“When you said you memorized it,” he said, “You didn’t mean just now.”

Cassian handed him the flimsi, creased at the edges from the imprint of his trembling hands.

“No,” he replied, “I’ve known it all my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem translated (so help me) and adapted from “Mother in the Dream,” a Mongolian folk song.


	14. Oats in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail thinks he knows how to fly a speeder in the rain. Cassian disagrees.

A spring storm followed them down from the university grounds back to the palace.

With the roof and shields up, the speeder cabin was comfortably warm, sheltered from the the onslaught outside.

“Thanks for doing that,” Bail said, trusting instinct and the speeder’s sensors more than sight to navigate them through the sparse mid-afternoon traffic, “Eadem really appreciated it.”

Cassian shrugged uncomfortably, leaning against the passenger side window and looking down at the flat grasslands that fell away beneath them.

“Though I probably should have thought it through a little better before asking you to get up on stage like that.”

“I don’t remember you _asking_ anything,” Cassian said drily, turning to face him, “But it’s alright. I doubt anyone who chooses to spend a good chunk of their morning at a lecture on obscure Outer Rim languages could possibly find time to be associated with the Empire. Besides,” he shrugged again, looking back out his window, “This is Alderaan.”

Bail smiled to himself.

Cassian sat back and absently pushed his hair out of his eyes, falling deep into thought. Sensing this, Bail turned back the controls, frowning a little when he saw that the windscreen’s hydrorepulsors had gone offline, leaving him truly navigating by sensors alone. He sighed quietly and toggled to autopilot, experienced enough to recognize the limits of his own skill. Stretching his arms above his head, he twisted around with a few satisfying pops and reached into the rear passenger seat for his datapad.

Several messages winked at him, including one from General Draven. _Kriff_ , he thought sourly. He’d have to face this sooner or later.

There was another from Breha with the subject line “Dinner.” Dutifully, he opened it, expecting a forwarded invitation to some state occasion that required a joint appearance. Instead, he found a blank message, no text, no images. He quirked an eyebrow and hit reply, fulling intending to sending a snarky response about age and absentmindedness.

The speeder lurched suddenly.

Bail dropped the datapad into his lap.

“What was that?” Cassian demanded, snapping to immediate alertness.

“I don’t know,” Bail replied, sitting forward and toggling back to manual controls. He steered them back into their hyperlane, quickly pulling up diagnostics on the navicomp. Cassian peered over his shoulder.

“Well,” he said, very dry, “We’ve lost the left repulsor.”

He keyed open his window and stuck his head out into the driving rain, lunging out farther after a moment of consideration.

“Cassian--” Bail began, exasperated, leaning across and seizing the the back of his tunic as he wobbled precariously, “-- _What_ \--”

Cassian thumped back into his seat, closing the window again and shaking rain out of his hair.

“We should probably land,” he said, drenched to the waist, “We’re on fire.”

Bail snapped his head back to the diagnostics, which displayed a conspicuous lack of alarm.

“Are you sure?” Bail asked, turning back to Cassian again.

“You really want to leave this up to discussion?” Cassian asked, eyebrows raised, “You’re welcome to have a look.”

Bail had crashed in a starship before. He’d long ago decided that he’d really rather not repeat the experience.

With a wary glance into the rearview mirror--rain, just rain--he activated the speeder’s hazard lights and dropped out of the hyperlane in a controlled spiral, tugging on the controls to compensate for the blown left repulsor.

There was another lurch, and, this time, the onboard navcomp beeped in alarm.

“That was the right repulsor,” he said unnecessarily. “Hold on,” he added, diverting power to the emergency antigrav boosters.

Cassian wordlessly buckled the crash harness around Bail’s shoulders before sitting back and securing his own.

A strong gust of wind sent them reeling through the air, Bail clutching, white-knuckled at the controls.

Then, of course, the antigrav failed, and they were truly tumbling through the air, rain-soaked grasslands rushing up to meet them in the distance.

Cassian, pressed back into his seat by crushing centrifugal forces, lunged for the central console, missed, and swore. Bail eased the brakes, steering into the wind, spinning, spinning.

Cassian unbuckled his crash harness and lunged out of his seat, staggering and falling almost immediately.

“-- _the fark are you doing!?_ ” Bail shouted, reaching out to him with one hand, the other desperately trying to level the nose of the ship with the horizon.

“Steering’s gone!” Cassian snarled, lurching into the central console and tearing off the synthleather cover.

“Sit _down!_ ” Bail shouted, reaching for him again.

Cassian ignored him, jabbing his arm into the mess of wiring, feeling the walls of the compartment for the failsafe he _knew_ had to exist. Nothing.

“ _Cassian!_ ”

An updraft twisted them onto their side, still falling, shearing through the air. Cassian crashed into the roof, breath stolen. Momentarily stunned, he blinked at the glaring alarm lights above him.

The roof.

The altimeter shrieked-- _impact imminent_.

 _There_ , hidden alongside obsolete air brake controls, the mechanical override for nearly-obsolete wing flaps. He reached out and threw the lever just as another gust of wind tossed them back cockpit-up. Cassian crashed back into the center console.

A sharp clunk as the flaps engaged.

The nose of the ship lurched up, overcorrected, and suddenly, they were falling backwards, whistling through the air, alarms blaring. Cassian tumbled into the rear seat, fumbling for the crash harness because there was no way--

“Flaps!” he shouted.

Bail reached up and yanked the flaps back, glimpsing the horizon for one brief moment--

They slammed into the ground, tail-first, with bone-juddering force.

* * *

Breha Organa was with visiting members of the Imperial Senate, thrashing out issues of judicial discretion when her personal aide entered the conference room and whispered in her ear. She stiffened, heart dropping.

She wanted to demand answers. She wanted to stand and run out of the room. She wanted to comm Leia. She wanted to shout at these Imperial loyalists that had once been her husband’s allies and now squabbled amongst each other in the massive power vacuum left by his resignation.

But--

 _I am Queen of Alderaan_ , she thought, _They will not see weakness_.

So she smiled casually, nodded, and with a murmured thanks, dismissed the young man with the serious eyes who’d lost everything in the Clone Wars and had, nevertheless, pledged his allegiance to the dead Republic.

He looked at her measuringly, for a beat, understanding, then bowed and withdrew.

Breha returned to her task with a resolve that spoke of sparking anger.

* * *

“The next time we go anywhere,” Cassian said, bent double on the edge of a medibed, head in his hands, “I’m flying.”

Bail rubbed the back of his neck, shifting the coolpack a helpful medical droid had placed into his hand.

“I don’t think I can argue with that,” Bail replied, a little apologetically, “How did you even know there was a mechanical override for the flaps? I thought those had been discontinued, even in speeders.”

“You don’t want to know,” Cassian snorted, then winced, wrapping a hand around his stomach.

Bail looked even more apologetic.

“Fark, Cassian,” he said, “I’m sorry. If I’d known--”

“--In that wind, they really wouldn’t have helped any more than they did,” Cassian mumbled, waving him off, “It was--ah--” he shifted gingerly, “--a last resort of a last resort.”

The door to House Organa’s private medbay hissed open. Cassian stood jerkily, lunging for his blaster and pressing Bail behind him.

“Sit down before you fall down, by Force,” Breha snapped, in full regalia, robes billowing out behind her.

Cassian sat heavily with a pained grunt, dropping the blaster onto the medibed.

“Breha, we’re fine,” Bail said placatingly, stepping forward, “Just a little bruised.”

“How did this _happen?_ ” Breha demanded.

“We don’t know yet,” Bail replied, placing both hands on her shoulders, “But we will.”

She almost brushed him off, almost pushed him away, but that would be fear speaking, and fear always led to anger. Instead, she leaned into him, gripping his strong, steady arms, looking into his eyes and finding peace instead.

Into this silent understanding, Cassian spoke.

“We can’t ignore the possibility of sabotage,” he said bluntly.

Breha sighed. Bail closed his eyes.

“This is Alderaan,” Breha replied.

But, within, doubt whispered, _Deara_.

Bail looked down at her. She knew he knew what she was thinking. Her traitor sister had been the undoing of her previously unshakeable faith in her own judgement. It had mended some in the many years since, but once shattered, faith was a difficult thing to repair.

“We will investigate,” Bail said, turning to Cassian, still holding Breha firmly, “And we will see. It does no good now to speculate.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” Cassian retorted, and behind the pain in his eyes lurked a familiar guilt.

“This has nothing to do with this morning,” Bail said steadily, “It was probably just the storm or some overdue maintenance. Maybe a combination of both.” He paused, then added, with a touch of humor, “Or maybe it was just my poor piloting skills. I _am_ getting old, you know.”

Breha’s hands tightened on his arms, and he knew she was not amused.

“You don’t know that,” Cassian replied, so stubborn, so eager to drown himself in guilt.

“Well, you don’t either,” Bail said, ending the argument with just a slight edge to his voice, “So let’s leave it be for now.”

Cassian pressed his lips together and looked away, shoulders hunched.

It was Bail’s turn to sigh. He ached, deep in his bones.

“Come on,” he said, dropping his hands from Breha’s shoulders and offering Cassian a hand, “Kriel’s set us free, and I’ve had your things moved to my office.” At Cassian’s look, he said, “ _No_ , I don’t have a bed in my office, you gundark, I'm not that much a slave to my work. It’s a pull-out sofa.”

Cassian took his hand reluctantly and slowly levered himself to his feet, holstering his blaster with another wince.

“That hair trigger of yours is going to get someone’s head blown off one day,” Bail said conversationally.

“Hasn’t happened yet,” Cassian grunted, struggling to stand up straight and failing miserably. He leaned heavily on Bail’s arm.

“Maybe you should stay here for the night,” Breha said, eyeing him.

“ _No_ ,” Cassian said emphatically, “I’m sick of medbays.”

“Well, considering how often you’ve landed in them recently,” Breha said, “You could have fooled me.”

“Don’t make me carry you,” Bail said, “I’m an old man. Might hurt my back.”

“Fark off,” Cassian snarled, staggering towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Literally. This was a last-minute rush chapter to make things flow more smoothly.


	15. Mother, Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian and Breha talk, sort of.

A confidential inquiry, cobbled discretely together from the loyal remnants of Bail’s Security Committee, found no evidence of foul play in the wreckage.

Cassian was far less than convinced.

But life on Alderaan continued, regardless.

Given his forced retirement from the Imperial Senate under less than amicable terms the previous year, Bail had, grudgingly, left most of the interplanetary ruling to his infinitely capable wife and daughter, confining himself to domestic matters of state and system where allegiance to the Empire was as treasured as spoiled mellut.

There was, of course, also the small matter of the Rebellion, which Bail shouldered willingly, going where Mon Mothma could not. The Empire, at least, had not placed a bounty on _his_ head. As yet.

Sudden need called for his presence on Chandrila for a few days to talk secret matters of trade and commerce, and he flatly denied Cassian’s offer to accompany him.

“You can’t even stand up straight,” Bail had said, “And you want to come along as my _bodyguard?_ This is Chandrila we’re talking about, not Ord Mantell. Or Naboo. I’ll be fine.”

“Bail, someone tried to blow you out of the sky two days ago.”

“No, that’s not true.” Bail’s firm belief had set Cassian on edge. “Look, I won’t be flying, if that makes you feel any better. Breha’s brother will be piloting me. He’s been with me since the Clone Wars. I trust him with my life.”

“Bail--”

“ _You’re not coming._ ”

So, most definitely _not_ sulking, Cassian had remained behind on Alderaan, trudging sluggishly through the paperwork for his transfer from Yavin 4. He spent most of his time alone, as he preferred, aside from daily trips on the lake with Ro in which he sat and scowled about being unable to dive until Ro demanded he straighten himself out or get thrown over the side, bruised ribs or no.

He flew--cautiously--back up to the university, sniffing out security tapes from the lecture, taking meticulous notes, and finding nothing. Could it really have just been accident? It was too great a coincidence--the Viceroy of Alderaan and a captain of Rebel Intelligence. Far too great a coincidence. And yet, there was nothing to suggest that anything other than a critical fault in the speeder’s hull plating had caused the fire that sent them plummeting several thousand feet into Glarus Valley.

Warily, he defied planetary regulation and carried a concealed blaster whenever he left the palace.

Breha returned from the Senate House on the third or fourth night of Bail’s absence to find him sprawled across the settee in the sitting room, hand loosely clutching a datapad to his chest, the other thrown haphazardly across his face.

She took a moment to smile, warmed by the sight.

The soft rustling of her robes as she crept into the kitchen roused him, and he snapped alert immediately, hand to blaster in a wearily familiar gesture of reflexive defense.

“Just me,” Breha said, pausing.

“Sorry,” Cassian said.

“We need to work on that,” Breha said from the kitchen, smiling again to see he had left out a large plate of neatly-portioned wildrice and kebroot with sliced gorak on the warmer.

“I’m not a droid,” came Cassian’s familiar reply as he slouched into the kitchen and wordlessly took the plate through to the dining table, which he’d set for one, “I don’t need _work_.”

Breha snorted, following.

“You’re not the one getting a blaster shoved in your face every time I so much as _breathe_ while you’re sleeping.”

Cassian set her plate down and sat across from her, leaning his elbows on the table.

“It’s a survival reflex,” he said bluntly, “Saved my life. Many times.”

Breha didn’t ask to show she understood.

But she didn’t, not really.

She ate quietly, and Cassian sat, flicking through his datapad with a familiar crease between his eyebrows. In Bail’s absence, it had become somewhat a routine, this silence.

“So,” she said, “Have you made a decision?”

He didn’t look up from his datapad.

“About?”

“You know what about. You’ve been on Alderaan almost a month. Might as well make it permanent.”

Cassian fidgeted minutely and set his datapad down, not quite meeting her eye.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, “I’ve completed the transfer request, but…” he trailed off, jerkily bringing a hand up to rub his beard.

“Well,” Breha said, “I can say that we’d both be sorry to see you go. Bail especially.”

“Yavin 4’s in the Outer Rim, not a different galaxy,” Cassian replied drily, “It’s not like we’ll never see each other again if I do decide not to stay on Alderaan.”

Breha didn’t respond to that, but he knew what she was thinking.

“It’s been good for Bail having you here,” Breha said.

Or not.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, sensing an approaching deviation into sentiment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Breha snapped, exasperated, “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I know,” he replied easily.

She sighed with grudging affection and dropped the subject.

Relieved, Cassian returned to his datapad, mulling over his potential replacement. He’d probably be responsible for recommending someone. Even if he wasn’t, he _should_ be. But the more he thought about it, the fewer options he realized he could seriously consider. He had, after all, been a founding member of Rebel Intelligence in the Outer Rim. It had taken years of patient, nerve-wracking cultivation to develop it to the point where he had finally allowed others to be brought aboard, and even then it was only because his departure from Fest--and Travia Chan--had left him, well, _strained_ , Mon Mothma had called it.

He set his datapad down with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Go to sleep,” Breha said, mopping up the last of her kebroot, “You look like death.”

“Thank you,” he replied, voice dripping acid.

“I’m being serious,” Breha said, “Again. You always look like you’re about to fall over.”

Cassian squinted up at her as she stood.

“You really do have a way with words, Your Majesty,” he said.

“You know,” Breha continued conversationally, “Sleeping does involve actually sleeping, not wandering around the balcony at some Force-forsaken hour and giving the Guard collective aneurysms when you and Bail decide to stand outside in the dark and shout at each other.”

Cassian winced. And sighed again.

“You can hear us?” he asked, a trace of contrition in his voice.

“Everyone and their deaf-blind great-grandmother the next galaxy over can hear you two when you go at it.”

Cassian eyed her back as she swept into the kitchen with her empty plate, wondering what _her_ squabbles with Bail sounded like. Probably like several simultaneous volcanic eruptions. Or supernovas.

He shook his head. Exploding stars were too close to exploding planets.

He realized Breha was looking at him now, leaning against the door frame, diminutive yet commanding.

“He really does worry about you,” she said.

“I _know,_ ” Cassian muttered, “He worries about everything. Too much.”

“That, I agree with,” Breha said, sitting next to him and pushing over a small plate of oro sticks, “But he doesn’t worry about you like he worries about the Rebellion or about securing that trade agreement on Chandrila. He worries about you like he worries about me. Or Leia.” She paused, twirling an oro stick between her fingers. “Just a lot more. Since neither I nor my daughter have a habit of reflexively pointing blasters at people in our sleep.”

Cassian crunched loudly on an oro stick.

“And this is supposed to make me feel... better?” he asked, askance.

“Yes,” Breha replied.

Cassian sighed again, deeper and heavier still, feeling strangely moved.

“Maybe,” he said, then paused, hesitating. He finished in a rush, “Maybe he’s not the only one that feels that way.”

If Breha was surprised by his admission, she made no indication.

“Probably not,” she said, finally.

Cassian looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“But,” she said suddenly, brightly, “That still doesn’t change the fact that you should go to sleep. I’m exercising my regnal rights. Give me your datapad.”

She held out a hand.

Cassian stared at it as if it was a poisonous, six-inch womp rat.

“Never mind,” he said, scooting his chair back and standing, “I take all that back.”

Breha laughed, high and clear, at the expression on his face.

“ _Men_ ,” she snorted.

Cassian made a quick escape from a most unfamiliar opponent: _Mothering_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much plottiness to come.


	16. Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail has some questions about Tatooine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.

After starting awake from another restless dream featuring exploding stars and sandy beaches, Cassian shuffled down from the residential level to the kitchen, making that most ubiquitous nighttime journey to find solace in hypnotic conservator lights. After several minutes of blank gazing, he scrubbed a hand vigorously across his face and turned away, blinking again to adjust to the dark.

He realized the light in Bail’s study was on. Cassian was unsurprised. The old man had probably fallen asleep at his desk again, holovid still running, projecting empty blue light.

Shaking his head, both to clear it of lingering images and in fond exasperation, he silently crossed the sitting room, navigating the furniture by instinct, and pushed gently on the door.

Bail was not, in fact, asleep, though he looked as if he needed it dearly. He looked up as Cassian entered, squinting, eyes bloodshot.

“Ah,” Cassian said, stopping short, “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“I wish,” Bail grunted, turning blearily back to his computer.

Cassian hovered in the doorway uncertainly.

“You should,” he said, “Sleep.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bail muttered, “What was it this time?” He didn’t look up from his screen.

Cassian hesitated, swallowed, looked away.

“Same thing, then,” Bail said.

“Yeah,” Cassian said.

Bail didn’t speak for several long moments, jabbing keys at irregular intervals.

He looked suddenly up at Cassian again.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said.

Cassian sighed and closed the door behind him, sinking onto the long, low sofa. He reached for his datapad, which he’d left on the end table earlier in the night, and clicked it on, checking the time. It’d be about three hours into the dawn shift on Yavin 4, and, judging from the disheartening number of winking message notifications he had, it had been a busy morning. He leaned back against one sofa arm and draped his feet over the other, propping the datapad up on his stomach.

The most recent message was from Kes. He ignored it.

Several were from his counterparts in the Strategic Analysis subdivision, forwarded from Kaytoo, likely with snide comments neatly appended to every other paragraph. He opened these, digested the contents--utterly ignoring the brief on Naboo--and fired off terse instructions.

There was an encrypted message flagged “urgent” from General Draven. Cassian hesitated, then scrolled past it, tearing through several base-wide communiques that had somehow made it through the snarl of transgalactic space to inform him that the second-level ‘lifts in the southernmost ziggurat were undergoing repairs and to _please_ avoid calling them while maintenance was flushing the mains because--

He closed that message quickly and deleted it from his memory.

Scrolling back up, he opened Kes’s message, which consisted of several pictures of Shara in various iterations of irritation: Shara sleepy and irritated in the mess, Shara sweating and irritated in the hangar, Shara purely irritated in the medbay, Shara smiling and trying to look irritated--

Medbay? Cassian scrolled back up, then all the way to the end of the message, searching for an explanation and finding none. He sent a--subtly--worried and irritated reply demanding an explanation.

He returned to his inbox and reluctantly opened General Draven’s message.

_Captain Andor--_

“Have you ever been to Tatooine?” Bail asked in a tone too casual to be _casual_.

Startled, Cassian dropped the datapad onto his chest with a dull thump.

“Ah. I don’t think so,” he said, frowning at the ceiling, “There’s not much there--for the Empire or the Rebellion.”

Bail grunted.

“Why?” Cassian asked suspiciously, pushing himself up and craning his neck to face the bulk of Bail’s desk.

“Just wondering.”

“If you’re planning something in the Outer Rim, I’m the one you should be talking to,” Cassian said, now doubly suspicious, “I haven’t handed in my transfer papers just yet.”

Bail didn’t respond for several minutes, staring intently at his computer monitor.

“It’s been a headache trying to get comm satellites up in the Arkanis sector,” he said, finally.

Cassian sat up.

“I wasn’t aware we were trying,” he replied.

Bail’s clattering keyboard fell silent.

“We’re not,” he said finally, as if admitting a great secret, “I am.”

“Fark,” Cassian swore, “What _charitable intervention_ are you running now? There’s nothing on Tatooine, nothing in the system, the _sector_ that’s worth your time.”

Bail stared fixedly at his monitor.

“Bail?” Cassian prompted, unease coiling in his gut.

“Theoretically,” Bail said, leaning back in his chair and addressing the ceiling, “If I wanted to contact someone on Tatooine, how would I go about doing it?”

“You’d have to go to Tatooine,” Cassian replied shortly, “Unless your contact is Jabba the Hutt, but I get the feeling it isn’t.” He looked at Bail sharply. “It’s not, is it?”

“Of course not,” Bail snapped, “What do you take me for?”

Cassin shrugged, looked away.

Bail inhaled sharply.

“Look,” he said, apologetically, “There’s someone on Tatooine I think you should talk to.”

“Really,” Cassian said flatly.

“Yes,” Bail matched him glare for glare.

“Why?” Cassian demanded, “I thought we were done with all the talking.”

“Not with me. With _him_.”

“On Tatooine.”

“Well, I’m _trying_ to think of a way that doesn’t involve crossing an entire galaxy, but I’ve come up with exactly nothing.”

“Who is this guy?” Cassian asked, “Why’s he on Tatooine if he’s so important?”

Bail looked away, staring broodingly out the window at the dim lights of the city. A dull prickling began at the base of Cassian’s neck. He waited.

“He’s an old friend,” Bail said quietly, after a long while.

“From the Republic,” Cassian inferred.

“Yes.”

Sudden clarity.

“He’s in hiding on Tatooine,” Cassian said.

Bail looked at him in resignation.

“Yes.”

“Because--” Cassian licked his lips, dry, “Because he’s a Jedi.”

Bail did not waver.

“Yes.”

“Why do you want me to talk to a Jedi?”

Bail did not respond.

Alarmed, Cassian said, “You can’t possibly think--”

“--No, it’s not that,” Bail replied, “Though I have known Jedi to be trained as adults.”

“Then what--”

“--Your dreams,” Bail said, “Or, rather, dream. I’ve heard of their like before.”

Cassian looked at him dubiously.

“You said they were just dreams.”

“Most of the time, they are,” Bail replied, treading carefully, “But it’s been--what? Two weeks since Ro found you wandering the Latone Quarter, half out of your mind? I’m willing to bet you haven’t slept through the night since then.”

“I’m not a child,” Cassian snapped, “You don’t need to be keeping track of my _sleeping habits_.”

“Maybe not,” Bail said evenly, “But when the Force acts, I tend to obey.”

“The Force,” Cassian said, bleeding condescension.

“Yes.”

Cassian glared at him a long moment.

He stood.

“You should get some sleep,” he said, snatching up his datapad and striding for the door, “You’re delusional.”

“You were so sure it was true when I woke you,” Bail said, “What’s changed?”

“I woke up,” Cassian snarled, gesturing with his datapad, “It was just a dream. Like any other dream.”

“No, it’s not,” Bail returned, “I know you’ve always been a restless sleeper, but what happened that night was different--even Kes agrees.”

“So, what?” Cassian demanded, “The _F_ _orce_ \--” he spat the word, “--is giving me dreams of the future?”

“I don’t know,” Bail replied, “But I think it’s a very strong possibility, with everything that’s--”

“--oh, so suddenly you know the signs and the symptoms and everything--”

“--that’s not what I said--”

“-- _There is no Force!_ ” Cassian shouted, “Where was the Force on Naboo, hm? On Jenoport? On _Scarif!?_ You say the Force is a living, breathing thing. It _knows_ \--” a curl of the lip “--what’s best for the galaxy.” He stepped towards Bail’s desk, taut, coiled. “If that’s true,” he said lowly, “Then I say we'd be better of in the hands of the Empire.”

“You don’t know what the _fark_ you’re talking about,” Bail snarled, standing, “No one knows how the Force works or why it does what it does--we’ll never have full understanding--”

“--well, that sounds convenient! Just-- _accept_ whatever you’re told. _Fark_ , you’re no better than a stormtrooper!” Cassian laughed, a hollow, bitter sound, “Where was the Force when the Jedi were wiped out? Did they see it coming and just _decide to die?_ People always say the Jedi were these great warriors, that they should be worshiped like gods because of their _Force_ , but I say they were just a bunch of fools, so far removed from the people they were trying to protect, always running after this, this _Force_ that, twenty years ago, ended up killing them _and_ the Republic.”

Bail brought a fist down on the surface of his desk.

“You,” he spat, jaw clenched, “Will _never_ understand.”

Cassian flinched.

“I fought alongside the Jedi,” Bail said, dangerously, brimming with a carefully-hidden anger, “I’ve seen things you couldn’t ever possibly imagine, impossible things.” _Zigoola_. “Whether you accept it or not, there are _forces_ here at work that are so far beyond our comprehension--to try and understand it all--” he broke off, took a breath. “I’ve tried. Believe me. I’ve _tried_.”

“And now you’ve just given up.”

Bail looked up sharply.

“Yes,” he said simply, “In that regard, yes, I have surrendered. I have lost. What has happened has happened. What will happen will happen. I can only do so much, but when I see the chance, even the smallest chance, to change something for the better, I take it as a gift of the Force.”

Cassian stared at him.

“You realize how contradictory that is,” he said.

“The Force works in mysterious ways.”

“Ah, _fark_ ,” Cassian hissed, but with less heat than before.

“Think about it this way,” Bail said, slumping back into his seat, “How many times have you had to make decisions on the basis of unsound intelligence?”

“I don’t think a _dream_ could even vaguely count as intelligence,” Cassian retorted.

“But think about when you’ve had to act on somebody’s word of a word,” Bail shrugged, “At least you know your dream. You’ve seen it, at least, which is more than can be said for third-hand information.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It’s--” Cassian looked away, fidgeting with his datapad.

“--personal,” Bail finished. He looked at Cassian, evaluative. “I know,” he said, “But I’m not the only one who’s dead in your dream. It’s my entire planet. That makes it about more than just individual relationships, you have to admit. And as Viceroy, it’s my responsibility to protect my people.”

“From a dream.”

“Yes, even from a dream.”

Cassian sank wearily onto the back of the sofa, tossing his datapad into a cushion. He scrubbed a hand across his face, erasing the defensiveness, the fear, leaving smudged imprints of each behind.

“When was the last time you were in contact with your friend?” he asked.

“Almost twenty years ago,” Bail replied.

“You really have no means of communication?” Cassian said, sketchily forming potential courses of action in his mind. He needed Kaytoo.

“We decided it would be better if we had no contact.”

“Absolutely no contact?

“Except in the case of critical emergency.” At Cassian’s look, he clarified. “We both have long-burst, single-transmission transceivers.”

“Which would be picked up by anyone with a half-functioning comsat array in a ten-parsec radius,” Cassian finished. “Wait,” he said, frowning, “ _Both_ of you? Him, I understand, but why would _you_ need long-burst capabilities? Raise your voice and the Royal Guard would have me flat on my back before I could get more than a few shots off.”

“Could we just ignore that fact for a few minutes?” Bail muttered.

Cassian looked at him, sidelong.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms. “I think we’re both agreed that this isn’t a critical emergency, yeah?”

“Agreed. Knowing him, he’d storm the palace single-handedly.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” he said. “You two obviously didn’t put much thought into this contingency.”

“We were a little pressed for time.”

Cassian sighed.

“Can he leave Tatooine?”

“I’m sure he can find a way, but the hard part will be getting word to him.”

“Well, yes,” Cassian said drily. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Who else in the Rebellion knows about him?”

Bail shook his head.

“Just Mon Mothma,” he replied, “No one in the armed forces.”

“So it wouldn’t be an option to draw from Rebellion resources.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“I have some contacts on Ryloth,” Cassian said, after a brief pause, “They might be able to help.”

“I was hoping to keep this between the two of us.”

“ _Fark_ , Bail!” Cassian exclaimed, “You’re not making this any easier.”

“I want to be careful. People we can trust absolutely.”

“I really don’t think General Draven’s going to be happy if we disappear into hyperspace together for two weeks.”

“Believe me, he won’t be the only one.”

Cassian stood again and swore under his breath, pacing restlessly.

“We have to go,” he said finally, “Short of having someone physically landing on Tatooine and carting your Jedi friend off somewhere to use a comsat, there’s no way we’ll be able to contact him without alerting the Empire and the Hutts and everyone in between that Alderaan’s been sitting on knowledge about Jedi survivors.”

Bail stared grimly out the window at the black expanse of Aldera Lake and was one breath away from capitulating when a thought struck him.

“We don’t have to go. We can send someone. Someone that’s not on anyone’s radar.”

“Who?” Cassian frowned, “You just said you wanted to keep this between the two of us.”

“Between people we can trust absolutely.”

“That list is a little short at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.” Cassian frowned. “You’re not thinking about sending _Breha_ , are you? I think someone might notice if the Queen of Alderaan took a trip to the Outer Rim.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Bail spluttered, “Send my _wife?_ To _Tatooine_?”

“I don’t know. Do you mean _Leia?_ ”

“She’s tied up in the Senate for another week, and while I don’t count this a critical emergency, I’d like to resolve the potential issue of planetary destruction as quickly as possible.”

“Then who?”

Bail smiled a little crookedly.

“I think you and Ro need to have a talk,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's going to be a very long end.)


	17. Saturn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final act begins. A truth is learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References the "Beginnings" miniseries.

"You’re looking much better,” Ro said, looking him up and down, squinting into the early morning light.

“I need to talk to you,” Cassian said.

At that, Ro set down his large tank of wriggling melluts, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his belt.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Privately,” Cassian said.

Ro looked around at his half-erected stall.

“Now,” Cassian added.

Measuringly, Ro took stock of Lian Tanis’s son.

“Alright,” he said at what he saw, “Just give me a moment to sort all this out.”

Cassian nodded jerkily, right hand tapping the grip of an absent blaster.

Ro went to the next stall over and asked the kind woman to sell off his day’s catch and keep whatever was left over--he had family matters to attend to.

Ro returned to his stall to find Cassian twitchily eyeing the sunrise.

“Lead on,” he said, pulling his coat from a half-planted pole.

Without a word, Cassian hurried off through the stirring market, brow furrowed.

Several possibilities flashed through Ro’s mind. None of them were pleasant.

In the speeder, he asked, “Where are we going?”

“The palace,” Cassian replied shortly.

“Do I get to know why?”

Cassian didn’t respond, hands tight on the controls.

Ro sat back and waited.

They lurched to a halt in the hangar under House Organa with a whine of reverse thrusters. Cassian vaulted to the ground, and Ro followed, joints complaining. The ‘lift ride to the east wing was also silent, Cassian stone-faced, jaw clenched.

Cassian exited first, slapping his access card against the front entry controls with ruthless force. Ro followed him in.

“Made it in one piece, I see,” Bail said, looking up from his datapad in the sitting room. He looked tired. “That was fast.”

“What’s all this about?” Ro asked.

Cassian pressed his back to the wall, arms across his chest.

“You were Republic Intelligence,” he said.

Ro turned to Bail sharply, feeling betrayed.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he demanded.

“I don’t trust you,” Cassian said.

Ro turned back to him, surprised by how the words stung.

“I never asked you to,” he replied.

“But he does,” Cassian said.

Bail set his datapad down and said nothing, just watched.

“What is this?” Ro demanded heatedly.

“I’m just here to make sure no one does anything stupid,” Bail said evenly, “This is between the two of you.”

“You were on Carida with my parents,” Cassian said.

“I was.”

“You were there when the protests broke out. With my father.”

“I was.”

“You were there when he died.”

A brief hesitation.

“I was.”

Cassian’s eyes were dark, sharp. Lian’s eyes.

“How were you recruited into Republic Intelligence?” Cassian demanded, “Was that before or after you left Scarif?”

Ro lifted his chin and looked Cassian in the eye to hide the sinking in his stomach.

“You won’t like where this is going to end,” he said.

“ _Before or after you left Scarif?_ ” Cassian snapped.

Chin high, Ro pressed his lips together.

“Before,” he replied.

Something behind Cassian’s eyes cracked, splintered.

“You were all Republic Intelligence,” he said, “All four of you. That’s why you left Scarif.”

“Yes.”

Bitterness spread from his tongue to his chest, stabbing, aching, hollowing him out what had begun to fill.

“What was the Republic doing on Scarif?”

“They’d received word of a growing Separatist movement within the academy on Carida. Coming from Scarif, we’d have the ideal cover to join their ranks.”

“ _Draven_ ,” Cassian snarled, remembering a slush-filled alley, a casual backhand to the face.

_You’re not from around here, are you?_

“Yes.”

On the settee, Bail shifted his weight forward.

Cassian stepped back, recoiling.

“What happened on Carida?” he demanded. “The truth.”

Ro shook his head.

“You don’t want to know, Jeron,” he said heavily, “Please.”

“ _No_ ,” Cassian snapped, “You just want me to accept your word on what? Blind _faith?_ ”

“If I’d had any designs against you or the Viceroy, don’t you think I would have done something already?” Ro retorted, voice rising, “I pulled you out of a gutter in the Latone Quarter. I could have left you there, let you meet that speeder head-on. But did I? You left me alone on my boat with the Viceroy of Alderaan and swam off after a saberfish. I’ve killed larger and stronger men with my bare hands. I had every chance. But did I? _Did I?_ ”

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do,” Cassian spat, “I care about the truth. _What happened on Carida?_ ”

“For your own sake,” Ro said, fists clenched, “Please don’t--”

“-- _What happened on Carida?_ ”

Ro closed his eyes, empty, surrendered.

He felt two pairs of eyes on him, father and son.

“On Carida,” he said, each word a funeral knell, “I killed your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on, you guys. This is going to get wild.


	18. Devil Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened on Carida.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General TW.

Bail Organa had grossly miscalculated very few individuals in his sixty-five years.

Sheev Palpatine. Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Each time, in the immediate aftermath, he’d wondered how he could possibly have gotten it so wrong.

It was a frustratingly familiar feeling.

Cassian brought a hand up to his face. He turned away, pushing off from the wall, a clumsy, desperate movement, head sunk to his chest. Ro looked down at the floor, rigid, jaw clenched.

“Why?” Cassian said quietly. Said, more than questioned.

“Colonel Draven had said there were Separatist forces on Carida. He was correct.”

Cassian spun tightly on his heel.

“ _Why?_ ” he hissed, eyes dark, feral, “I want you to _say it!_ ”

Ro lifted his chin.

“Your father was informing on us to the Confederation,” he said, quiet, defiant, “He was a double agent.”

“So you killed him.”

“I didn’t--” Ro’s composure cracked entirely, and he looked away.

“ _Why?_ ” Cassian stepped towards him, hands dropping to his sides, fists. Bail stood. “The truth, just this once! Why did you kill my--”

“--He _knew!_ ” Ro shouted, and somewhere in his chest, a dam burst, “He knew what he’d done, what he’d tricked himself into believing. You weren’t there, you don’t know what it’s like to pretend, for _years_ , to be something that, with every holoreel, every morning brief, feels closer to the truth than everything you’d ever believed, _anything_ you’d been trained to do.” Ro raised a hand, clenched, brought it back down to his side. “We were kids when Draven landed on Scarif. Fifteen, sixteen standard. Outer Rim backwater kids. And when he said he wanted us to fight for the Republic, to fight for something that our parents, our old, old-fashioned, hypocritical parents said had changed too much, had become too dangerous, we jumped at the chance prove them wrong.” He shook his head vigorously, bitterness overflowing. “We joined a war we didn’t understand because we were young and thought we could prove ourselves right. We argued that a centralized, militarized Republic was what was needed to return peace to the galaxy, but what the _fark_ did we know about the Republic? About the war? We had no idea what we were saying. Those were just words we repeated to ourselves to make us feel important, to make us feel we had a place in the galaxy beyond just _Scarif_.”

* * *

**SCARIF, 36422 TYA**

“Did you see that ‘ship!?”

Cassian Lyron Tryhane, sixteen standard and still waiting for his first growth spurt, craned his neck in the water, hand over his eyes, squinting after the fast-disappearing glow of unfamiliar repulsors.

Beside him, Cassian Dalian Tanis, also sixteen standard but very tall, flicked clear ocean water into his friend’s face.

“Of course I saw it, you _pulla_ ,” Lian said, ducking Ro’s reflexive sideswipe, “It’s probably just another lost freighter.”

“No,” Ro said, shaking his head vigorously, eyes still fixed on the horizon, “That was something else.”

* * *

“We lasted almost four years on Carida, transmitting intelligence to Draven, only because we had each other, and no one wanted to be the first to break, to admit that we had been so, completely, unbelievably wrong, that we really _were_ just stupid kids who’d tried too hard to be grown up.”

* * *

**CARIDA, 36425 TYA**

“Ro?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah.”

“ _Ro_.”

“ _What?_ ” Ro set his datapad down on the table with a sharp _crack_ , looking up, up, up at the dark, worried face of his childhood friend and current bunkmate. “What’s happened?” he demanded,  “You’ve heard from Draven?”

“No,” Lian replied, unbuttoning the collar of his stiff dress uniform and leaning against the desk, tense, unreadable.

“What, then?”

Lian glanced away at the blinking text on Ro’s datapad. The corners of his eyes tightened.

“ _Lian_.”

“Nothing. Never mind,” Lian said suddenly, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and turning abruptly away, “Sorry.”

“No, Lian, wait,” Ro said, reaching out and grabbing Lian’s arm. He took a breath, pressing his fingers briefly into his eyes, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just this whole thing with the Chancellor’s Military Creation Act and the Omega assassination--” he broke off, forced himself to stop. “You know,” he said, forcing a shrug.

Lian looked down.

“Yeah,” he said.

Ro squashed guilt, projected concern.

“How’s ‘Koa?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Lian replied, mechanically. He unbuttoned the rest of his tunic and hung it in the closet, “The same.”

Ro nodded, watching carefully.

“Lian--” he began.

“--forget it,” Lian said, climbing into his bunk, “I’m just tired.”

“We all are,” Ro said to himself.

* * *

“You father, Jeron,” Ro said, after a breath, “Was a better man than me by far. He knew where we’d gone wrong, and he _did_ something about it.” He met Cassian’s eye. “And that’s what killed him.”

* * *

**CARIDA, 36426 TYA**

“You really think we’re making a difference? You _really_ \--Look at these! _Look at them!_ These aren’t secessionists--Separatists, the Confederation, _whatever_ the fark they’re calling themselves. These are _Republic_ troops marching into _Theed_ \--”

“--Lian--”

“-- _Theed_ , Ro. _Naboo_. What the fark are Republic troops doing in the Mid Rim? Next thing you know they’ll be out in--”

“-- _Lian,_ it’s not going to happen--”

“You _know_ what happens when Republic forces land anywhere. The war follows them everywhere. _Everywhere_. It’s only a farking matter of time before--”

“ _Lian!_ Listen to yourself. We are the Republic. _We_. Are the Republic. We _should_ be spread through the galaxy. That’s what we’re here for--”

“--Are you even _listening_ to yourself? Why did you say we had to leave Scarif in the first place? The last thing any of us wanted, least of all _you_ , was for someone to tell us what to do. _You_ said the old ways were dead, that it was time to move away from tradition for something new--”

“--And that’s the _Republic!_ Fark, Lian, what’s gotten into your head lately?”

“Ro, I never wanted to leave Scarif. _You know this_. I came to Carida because I _trusted_ you. I trusted you not because of what the Republic said or what the Confederation said or what _Draven_ said. I trusted you because you’d never given me any reason not to. So when you said you’d be leaving, did you really expect that I’d let you go alone?”

“What, so I forced you to come out here? You were _free_ to make _your own_ decisions. And now you’re pinning this all on me?”

“ _You’re not the one I’m blaming!_ ”

* * *

“The protests were the perfect cover for a confrontation. It was terrifying, the precise chaos we’d carefully orchestrated to reveal Separatist sympathisers. Peace-minded Judicial Forces, that’s what we said we were. Imagine that--all these cadets, all protesting against the expansion of Republic forces. Protesting against ourselves. Your father was the one to think that up, to make it work, spreading it by word of mouth--did we really want to go fight in some politician’s war? He turned desertion into nobility, and the only mistake he made was playing his part too well.”

“He knew that I knew. I was the only one who’d figured it out. Not your mother, not--” he stumbled, “--not Kani. Somehow, he must have found out I’d been tracking his subspace transceiver, that I’d informed Draven about it.”

“He was waiting for me in our quarters, and we looked at each other and just--” Ro’s voice broke, “We just _knew_. We’d grown up together, did you know that? We were born days apart. We used to swim together, fish together. We lived the old ways together until I got sick of them, and I convinced him to leave.”

“He wouldn’t fight me. He _refused_ to fight me.”

* * *

**CARIDA, 36427 TYA**

“This is what they want, can’t you see? They just want us to fight each other, everyone tearing everyone to pieces. This is so much bigger than just the Republic.”

“There is nothing bigger than the Republic.”

“For you, I know that’s true.”

* * *

“I was so angry with him. Betrayed. I’d left my family behind on Scarif, and now this family I’d made was falling apart too.”

“But _fark_ , he wouldn’t fight me. I shouted at him, cursed at him, took him by the shoulders and shook him, but he never raised his voice. We could hear the protests outside, the chants, the seeds we’d spent four years sowing to see where they’d take root. It was supposed to be our moment of glory. All that work. Everything we’d put into identifying the Separatist network--here, come to fruition.

“Lian took the blaster from my belt, and I thought then, _then_ , he would finally just shoot me, like any common Separatist _rebel_ ,” Ro spat. “But then he just asked me what I missed the most about Scarif.”

“I said it didn’t matter, that we’d never be going back there, and then he looked at me, with your eyes, so hard and so _sad_ , and said he missed having a family.”

“And then he pulled the trigger and shot himself straight through the head.”

* * *

**SCARIF, 36423 TYA**

“Look at us, intergalactic spies. Aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re just glad you get to be with ‘Koa, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Lian, come on. We’ll be on Carida for a year, two at most. Doing stuff that _matters_ , you know? Instead of listening to farking stories about the _sea_ and how wonderful and full of life it is.”

“Well, at least _those_ stories are true.”

* * *

“I stood there with his body, my _brother’s_ dead body in my quarters. On my bed. And I knew that I’d killed him. I’d killed your father by forcing him to believe in something that had never existed, something that I’d created--a noble Republic. And the burden of that decision--to follow me, his brother in all but blood who he’d followed across the farking _galaxy_ , or to trust the truth, which was all that he, like you, had ever wanted--that decision, that ultimatum that I threw at his feet--it _broke_ him.

Ro drew a ragged breath and continued.

“But even then, the very last act of his life had been to get me off Carida, to escape both the Separatists and the Republic. He’d shot himself dead with my blaster in our quarters. I had to leave.”

“I stepped outside, and the protests, begun with his quiet precision, had boiled over. Someone had set the marshal’s office on fire, and the gravity--the gravity just weighed everything down. People shouting, crying, everyone in Republic uniform, hurling bottles, shooting. Everyone just so _angry_ , and none of us really even knew why.”

“I found your mother, and we looked for Kani. We _searched_ for Kani, but we couldn’t find her. I’d told your mother that Lian was dead, that I’d seen him shot in the assembly yard, which had become a minefield after someone broke into the armory and planted charges to keep the cadre from approaching from the west.”

* * *

**CARIDA, 36427 TYA**

“‘Koa, listen to me. ‘Koa, _please_ , ‘ _Koa_. Lian’s dead. Lian’s _dead_ , you hear? We have to get out of here.”

“ _No!_ What are you talking about--”

“--It’s my fault. It’s _my fault_ , okay? We have to leave. _Now_.”

“Lian--Kani--”

“Lian’s dead. Someone--someone shot him. I saw it. I was there. He’s _gone_. I’m sorry. But we have to get you out before they close the spaceport.”

“Why--”

“ _Koa, please!_ ”

* * *

“I never told her what happened. She never doubted me. You two are the first in twenty-five years to have learned the truth.”

Silence thrummed, low, throbbing.

Cassian, ashen, turned away first, arms crossed so tightly across his chest Bail thought he couldn’t possibly be breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Ro said.

Cassian said nothing.

Ro turned reluctantly to Bail, who, standing, felt equally at a loss.

“Cassian,” Bail said gently.

Cassian said nothing, did nothing to indicate he’d heard.

“I should go,” Ro said quietly.

“Wait,” Bail said, “I need to speak with you.” He turned to Cassian again. “Cassian,” he repeated. At the lack of response, he continued, “I’ll be with Ro in my study. Come join us when you’re ready.”

Bail gestured Ro into his study and shut the door after him with a murmured, “Wait a moment.”

He turned back and touched Cassian tentatively on the shoulder. When even that failed to yield a response, he spoke.

“Cassian, I’m going to take your blaster. Promise me you’ll stay here.”

Cassian turned to look at him then, face hard, tightly masking sparking turmoil.

“I am not my father,” he spat.

“I know,” Bail replied, “I’m just being overbearing again. It’s all I’m good for, you know.”

Cassian looked up at him, dark, unreadable.

In one sudden, violent motion, he reached down and yanked his blaster from its holster and stepped back out of reach.

Bail started forward, an aborted half-reach, cold, frozen.

“How much do you believe you can you actually control?” Cassian asked, staring down at his blaster.

“Cassian,” Bail said, fighting to keep his voice level, “Just think for a moment.”

“Oh, I don’t need to,” Cassian replied, meeting his gaze evenly, “I’ve been here before.”

He stepped forward, close, and pressed his blaster into Bail’s nerveless hands.

His words were harsh, grating.

"And I will be again.”


	19. Move Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey begins.

Ro looked up from his seat on the sofa when Cassian entered Bail’s office, closely followed by the Viceroy himself.

“Have you ever been to Tatooine?” Cassian asked him, blandly, neutrally. He leaned back on the edge of Bail’s desk, arms folded casually across his chest, unreadable. Bail sat beside him in a large armchair. He had a blaster in his hand.

“I don’t know Jabba the Hutt, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ro replied.

“No,” Cassian said, “I’m asking if you’ve ever been to Tatooine.”

“I haven’t,” Ro said.

“We need you to go to Tatooine,” Cassian said.

“I’ve been a fisherman for twenty-five years,” Ro said.

“Perfect,” Cassian snarled.

Ro looked to Bail, who pinched the bridge of his nose in an increasingly familiar gesture of frustration.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning?” he suggested. Turning to Ro, he said, “There’s a man on Tatooine we dearly need to speak with, but there’s no way to get a comsat out there without starting an interplanetary incident.”

“By ‘we,’” Ro said, “You mean the Rebellion.”

“What rebellion?” Cassian replied curtly. “No,” he continued, “By ‘we,’ he means him.”

Bail shot him a look.

“I mean both of us,” he corrected, and hesitated. “It has to do with a matter of planetary security.”

“What,” Ro said, frowning, “Alderaan?”

Bail nodded.

“Then shouldn’t your security forces be the ones to--” Ro broke off. “Ah. I see.”

“You do,” Bail said flatly.

“Everyone in the galaxy knows you and Senator Amidala worked closely with the Jedi.”

Bail’s hand almost went for the bridge of his nose again, but he caught himself at the last moment, smoothing his goatee instead.

“All the more reason we need you to go,” he sighed.

“Why not just send Jeron?”

Bail and Cassian shared another look.

“We’re both expected to remain planetside,” Bail said.

“By the Rebellion,” Ro supplied.

“Fark, yes, by the Rebellion,” Cassian said impatiently, “Obviously.”

“What would a Jedi have to do with Alderaan in these times?” Ro asked, eyes narrowing, “Unless your Jedi is part of the Rebellion…” he trailed off.

Cassian looked to Bail out of the corner of his eye.

Bail shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly, “We both agreed he should remain on Tatooine.”

No one asked the question.

“But why not involve the Rebellion?” Ro said instead, “If it’s a threat to Alderaan, it must also be a threat to them.”

“Our intelligence is a little… unreliable at the moment,” Bail said, carefully not looking at Cassian, “It would be best not to stretch the Rebellion’s resources for something that might just be nothing.

“So I get to take a trip to the Outer Rim,” Ro said.

“We’re asking, Ro,” Bail said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Ro sat back on the sofa, considering.

“What sort of threat to Alderaan?” he asked, “Invasion? Infiltration?”

“Destruction,” Cassian answered flatly.

Ro stared at him.

“Destruction,” he repeated, “Destruction of what?”

“The planet.”

A pause.

“Oh.”

Ro turned to Bail, who gazed distantly out the window. He could feel Cassian’s eyes on him, intense, penetrating. _Scarif_ , no one said.

“Fine,” Ro said, “I’ll go.”

“Just like that,” Cassian said, leaning forward.

“Yes,” Ro replied.

“We’ve hardly told you anything.”

“I know.”

“Why would you do anything to help the Rebellion?”

Venom. Disbelief.

“I’m not helping the Rebellion,” Ro said, “I’m helping you.”

* * *

“You never told me what changed your mind,” Cassian said, standing off to the side of House Organa’s small, private, semi-secret hangar as Bail stripped the hyperdrive of a P-class, Corellian-engineered Starfarer.

“Changed my mind about what?” Bail grunted, sleeves rolled up past his elbow, cannibalized parts from other ships scattered on the ground beside him.

Cassian prodded him with a hydrospanner, and Bail took it with another grunt.

“About thinking my… dream--” he cringed, forcing the word out, “--could be real.”

Bail, buried up to his neck in the hyperdrive well, swore under his breath as the hydrospanner slipped.

Cassian peered cautiously down at him.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“I keep stripping these kriffing bolts,” Bail muttered, pulling himself back out, smudged with grease, “Could you see if we have any 9T’s in that tray over there?”

Cassian obediently rummaged through the indicated tray, which was balanced on the remains of the inertial dampener. He found the proper-sized bolts and turned, dropping them into Bail’s hand.

“Thanks,” Bail said, diving back into the hyperdrive well.

“It won’t work on me, you know,” Cassian said, setting the tray on the ground and eyeing the inertial dampener. He picked up a macrolens and sat, cross-legged, beside it on the tarp.

“What?”

“Avoiding the question.”

“What question?”

Cassian sighed and reached for a magclamp, piecing the dampener back together. Another clunk, and Bail swore again. Without looking, Cassian plucked another 9T from the tray and dropped it into the hyperdrive well.

“ _Ow_ ,” Bail yelped, “Watch it, that was my head.”

“I’m sure it’s thick enough,” Cassian muttered, reaching for a thermal wrench.

Bail mumbled something impolitic.

Cassian ignored him, cocking his head and setting aside the thermal wrench, picking up the welding stick instead and striking a smooth arc. He squinted at the chunk of metal and strapped the macrolens around his eyes.

Bail grunted again, a sour note of satisfaction in his voice.

With a loud clump, he heaved himself back out of the well, stretching his arms above his head.

“That should boost it down a class,” he said, “Class 3, not bad for a Starfarer.”

“It’ll still take, what--three, four days to get to Tatooine from here?” Cassian said, carefully welding, hands steady.

“Five, probably,” Bail replied, slamming the hyperdrive casing shut with a sharp clang.

Cassian grunted, frowning in concentration.

“I’m getting old, Cassian,” Bail said, after a moment.

“Now there’s a surprise.”

“That’s why I changed my mind.”

Cassian nearly smashed the welding stick into his knee as he turned.

“What?” he spluttered, wincing and pulling the macrolens from his face.

“Some people get cautious when they’re old,” Bail said, tucking the hydrospanner back into its sleeve with a shrug, “Other people just get tired.”

“You’re… Tired.”

“I’m tired of a lot of things, Cassian,” Bail said wearily, rolling his sleeves back down, “Tired of hiding. Tired of running. Tired of not fighting. Tired of wondering if, the next time I drop out of the sky, it’ll be my fault or someone else’s. Or anyone’s at all.”

Cassian set the welding stick down carefully.

“What happened to surrendering?” he asked.

Bail looked away and shrugged again, more self-consciously, which was an odd sight.

“You’re not the only one losing sleep over this,” he replied.

Cassian remembered Breha’s words.

 _He worries too much_.

“Ah,” he said, and let it be.

* * *

Cassian watched as the cruiser pulled smoothly into the hangar. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, a little rigid, a little tense. A little excited.

The transport hatch opened, and seven familiar feet of former Imperial security droid slouched out, closing the hatch behind him. The cruiser pulled away immediately. Cassian reminded himself to thank Shara again later.

Kaytoo stood for a moment alone on the ferrocrete, watching the ‘ship glide off into the night, then, unerringly, turned directly towards him.

“How was the flight?” Cassian quipped.

“Terrible,” Kaytoo replied, striding over, servos humming quietly, optics bright--and possibly also a little excited? “There is a 79% chance that General Draven will hear of this.”

“That’s why you need to get going.” Cassian indicated the ’lift behind him with a jerk of his chin, “Come on.”

“This is a bad idea,” Kaytoo said in the ’lift.

“Then why’d you agree to it?” Cassian muttered under his breath, slapping his access card against the controls and keying in the code for the private hangar.

“All your plans are bad ideas,” Kaytoo replied, “But there was a very high probability that if I declined this unsanctioned mission, you’d decide to accompany your biological father’s murderer to Tatooine yourself.”

Cassian slammed a hand down on the ’lift controls. They jerked to a stop.

“ _Who told you that?_ ” he snapped.

Kaytoo looked down at him. There was something in the set of his durasteel shoulders that mirrored the tension in Cassian’s face.

“No one,” Kaytoo replied, “It was a conjecture. One you just confirmed.” He looked back up. “Uncharacteristically,” he added.

Cassian swore under his breath and reactivated the ’lift.

“Not a word of this to Kes,” he demanded as they stepped out, “Or Shara.”

Kaytoo looked down at him again.

“That is a bad idea,” he said.

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Cassian muttered.

The P-class Starfarer sat alone in the small hangar, landing lights gleaming dully. Ro sat in the open door hatch, smiling faintly as he spoke to Bail, who turned to greet them as Ro’s gaze slid over his shoulder.

“Kaytoo,” Bail said, “It’s good to see you again.”

Cassian shot the droid a look. _Behave_.

“Likewise, Viceroy Organa,” Kaytoo replied.

“Kay,” Cassian said, “This is Ro. Ro, this is K-2SO. You can trust him with your life.”

Ro stood warily and leaned back a little to meet Kay’s optics.

“I sense there’s a story here,” he said drily.

Cassian shot Kay another look, which the droid blatantly ignored.

“There is,” Kaytoo replied, “But I’m not telling you.”

Cassian sighed. Bail smirked. Ro looked confused.

“This is a bad idea,” Kaytoo continued, pushing past them all and ducking into the ship.

Now alarmed, Ro turned to Bail.

“He always says that,” Bail said.

“That’s because it’s always true,” Kaytoo replied from the cockpit, vocabulator echoing slightly.

“You’ll get used to him.”

Ro managed a laugh.

“Well,” he said, as the engine hummed to life behind him, “I guess I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Twenty-four hour check-ins,” Cassian said, “Remember the scrambler.”

Ro nodded.

Bail held out his hand.

“May the Force be with you,” he said.

Ro gripped his hand firmly, sharp, _alive_. He turned to Cassian.

“I’ll take care of him,” he said.

Cassian nodded jerkily and stepped back.

With one last, measuring look, Ro turned and hopped into the modified Starfarer, slamming the hatch shut behind him.

Cassian felt Bail’s eyes on him as he turned away, striding for the turbolift.

It’s not that he didn’t want to watch them leave.

He just wasn't sure if he'd see them return.


	20. Life Is Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia returns from the Senate, and a relationship is explored.

Cassian prowled the halls at night, restless, pained.

He waited for every status update at the massive secret comsat at the top of House Organa’s tallest spire, snatching at every chance for stilted conversation. He worried when the delay between question and reply grew longer as space-time stretched between them.

Bail watched him like a sentinel droid, tracking his every movement, waiting for what felt like an inevitable explosion.

Leia returned from the Imperial Senate. Cassian was unsurprised to hear she had been informed of their ongoing project.

“Let’s go see the grass paintings,” she said one day, breezing into his room without knocking.

“What?” he said, tearing his gaze away from his datapad.

“Let’s go see the grass paintings,” Leia repeated, perching on the back of his sofa, a small smile playing on the edge of her lips.

“Princess--”

“--Oh, shut up,” she said, laughing at the expression on his face, “Call me ‘Princess’ one more time and I’ll have you thrown off the balcony. Or something just as stuffy and traditional. You’ve been living in my father’s old room for almost a month. You made my mother esquilidas. If that doesn’t make you family, I don’t know what will. Now,” slyly, she smiled again, “Repeat after me--‘Yes, Leia, I would love to go see the grass paintings with you! How kind of you to ask!’”

Cassian sighed.

“Leia--” he began, very uncomfortable.

“--No,” she corrected, “‘Yes, Leia...’” She trailed off expectantly.

Cassian sighed again.

“I don’t even know what grass paintings are,” he said.

“Even better,” Leia said, standing, still smiling, “Come on, I’ll make it a family thing and get my father to come.”

“Now?” Cassian said blankly.

“Yeah,” Leia said, already out in the hall, “Five minutes and I’m sending the Guard after you!”

Cassian stared at the empty doorway, sighed, and followed.

* * *

Wordlessly, Cassian slid into the pilot’s seat before Bail, nudging him out of the way.

Bail grumbled good-naturedly and slid into the rear seat with Leia.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” he asked.

“No,” Cassian replied, flicking very carefully through the pre-flight check, “But you’re not flying us anywhere.”

“Here,” Leia said, reaching over his shoulder and keying some coordinates into the navicomp.

Bail looked betrayed. Or tried to. His tired eyes smiled when Cassian glanced back at him.

Cassian pulled them smoothly out of the hangar into the early afternoon Alderaan sky. He checked the coordinates.

“It’s going to be a long ride,” he said.

“It’ll give us time to talk,” Leia said pertly.

Cassian swallowed a sigh and opened the throttle a little more, nudging them slightly over the speed limit.

“You can start,” he said, “By explaining what grass paintings are and why we’re flying two hours, one-way, to see it.”

“Oh, Force.” Leia turned to her father, “That’s a little hard to describe.”

“Please tell me it’s not just a bunch of paintings of grass.”

“Well…”

The ship lurched as Cassian slammed on the brakes.

“You can’t be serious,” he snarled, turning around to face them.

“No,” Leia said, face perfectly straight, “We’re not.”

Cassian squinted dangerously at her.

“She’s telling the truth, Cassian,” Bail said, amused.

“Yeah, like I’d believe you,” Cassian muttered, nevertheless turning around and pulling them back into traffic.

He glanced at his datapad, which he’d connected to the comsat to forward any incoming transmissions. Nothing. It was a good sign.

“So,” Leia said, sitting forward, “I hear you impressed Eadem Telos with your Scryllic.”

Cassian winced.

“He sent me the holo of your reading,” Leia continued, “I think he’s trying to get me to get you to stay on Alderaan so he can pick your brain. _Joren_.”

Cassian glared into the rearview mirror.

“This is a conspiracy,” he growled.

Bail laughed.

* * *

They reached the far side of Aldera Lake where the Triplehorn Mountains met the Juran Mountains, the sun directly ahead. Cassian squinted and increased the polarization of the forward windscreen.

Bail leaned over his seat, careful not to wake his daughter, who had fallen asleep against the window, breathing deep and regular.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” Bail said quietly.

Cassian looked down at the craggy, snowcapped peaks that fell away below.

“Reminds me of Fest,” he replied.

Bail looked at him, surprised at this rare voluntary admission.

“But better, right?” he said.

Cassian snorted softly.

“Snow and ice will always feel a little like home, I guess,” he said.

Bail raised his eyebrows.

“We should come out here more often,” he said, “It’s got you making actual _conversation_.”

At that, Cassian grunted, and Bail chuckled, sitting back down at peering out his own window. Cassian glanced at his datapad again. Still nothing.

This far from Aldera, there was little air traffic, and Cassian opened up the throttle, sinking into the hum of power beneath his hands. They crested a jagged ridge, winding up and across through unmarked peaks, massive, unspoiled arches of ice. Through the mountains they sped, Cassian eager at the controls, banking smoothly, testing the inertial dampeners.

Bail braced himself against the roof of the speeder, grinning.

Leia tumbled into his side around a particularly sharp turn, starting awake.

“Wha--” she began, sleepy, confused.

Cassian pulled up sharply, pressing her words back into her throat.

They flew up, up, up, the engines whining, roaring, until suddenly, blue sky surrounded them. Cassian nudged the nose of the ship down, then smirked wickedly into the rearview mirror. He secured his crash harness.

“Oh,” Bail said, “don’t you--”

Cassian cut the power entirely.

Unsurprisingly, they fell. Like a brick.

“What the _fark_ is _wrong_ with you!?” Leia shouted, now entirely awake, clinging to her seat.

Cassian didn’t reply, reaching up to the roof and pulling the lever by the obsolete air-brakes. With a clunk, the flaps deployed, jerking them level.

And, suddenly, they were gliding.

The mountains fell away behind them, and in complete silence, they sailed over rolling foothills swathed in rippling cloaks of wildflowers.

Leia pressed her face to the window.

“Cassian,” she said, “Look.”

Keeping one hand on the steering yoke and the other on the mechanical lever, Cassian peered out his window. A wordless exclamation escaped from his lips. His reflection in the transparisteel was smiling, broad and full of wonder.

“Grass paintings,” he breathed.

Below him, the wildflowers, lovingly coaxed to life by the earth itself, bloomed in the magnificent image of the Triplehorn Mountains, hundreds upon thousands of white poppies sharply defining distant snowy peaks, purple and blue starflowers delicately blending light and shadow, living and breathing as the mountains themselves swelled and sighed in the wind.

Beside the Triplehorn Mountains, another grass painting--of Aldera itself, magnificent white spires gleaming, straight and proud.

Beside Aldera, portraits, unfamiliar faces, sunsets, rocky shores.

Around them, the world was silent, with only a distant whisper of wind as they floated on invisible currents.

The paintings continued for miles, the smallest flashing by in seconds, the longest drawn out like tapestries, telling ancient stories--from the Killicks, who built the eeries mounds in the Castle Lands a million years ago, to the Mandalorian Wars, which Leia narrated as they played out below in brilliant splashes of natural beauty--the Treaty of Coruscant, Crown Prince Gaul Panteer’s secession from the Republic and his subsequent assassination, the great Civil War that pitted House against House upon the backdrop of the lingering Interstellar Cold War, and on and on, each scene brought to life by Leia’s young voice, by their vivid, living depiction joined with Alderaan itself below.

They sailed over the Clone Wars in what must have amounted to half a breath, and suddenly, they were over the sea.

Cassian froze as Leia’s voice faded into silence.

This, this here was _home_.

He watched their reflection glint off the surface in the dying sunlight, almost feeling the salt spray sting his eyes, almost tasting it in his mouth.

“We can land just over there,” Bail said quietly, pointing over his shoulder at a narrow, mossy promontory jutting out into the sea.

Cassian wordlessly brought the engines back online, repulsors humming, suddenly intrusive, as he set them down facing the setting sun. And the sea. He sat for a moment, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. Then, decisively, he retracted the roof and hopped out.

The memories hit him deep in his chest, tightening his lungs, stealing his breath. The beaches here were rocky, not the white, endless sand of his memory, but the sea--

He breathed deeply.

The sea was unchanging.

Arms held out for balance, he scrambled down to the shoreline, ignoring Bail’s fond laugh as it drifted across with the wind. He plunged a hand into the water--frigid, but not too cold for--

He blinked and looked guiltily back at the ‘ship. Thought about his datapad sitting, abandoned, in the cockpit. Thought about Kay and Ro, by now approaching the Outer Rim, every moment creeping closer to danger, uncertainty. He tamped down looming memories of winter dives through the coral beds, glimmering, glistening, serene as the waves crashed silently overhead. He forced out the smell of his father’s hair when he wandered in after sunset, rich and damp, sharp and sweet with the caress of the sea. He pushed aside his mother’s laugh as she seized him around the middle and ran down the shore--

“Don’t make me push you in,” Leia said, suddenly standing before him.

Cassian blinked.

“What?” she said cheekily, “Never seen a woman in a wetsuit before?”

“I need to--” he began.

“My father’s got it handled,” Leia said, pointing over her shoulder, “He says he’s too old for this sort of thing, but he’s really just self conscious about his beer belly.”

By the speeder, Bail held his datapad aloft, wiggling it in the air, an irritatingly knowing grin on his face.

“You and your father are disturbingly alike,” Cassian said finally.

“You know, I think I’ve heard that before.” Leia clapped her hands. “Now, come on, Captain. Strip.”

Cassian stared at her, flushing.

“Manipulative vetches,” he growled.

“What was that?” Leia asked sweetly.

“I ought to just retire from the Rebellion,” Cassian muttered, shrugging out of his shirt, “It seems all I’m doing here is playing _tourist_.”

Leia laughed.

Bail approached, ducking as Cassian tugged off a boot at tossed it half-heartedly in his direction.

“Help! Murder! Assassination!” Bail laughed, snatching the other flying boot out of the air.

Cassian glared at him and tossed his bundled shirt and trousers straight at his face.

Bail caught it and pulled a dramatic frown.

“You need to wash more often,” he said, pointedly dropping everything to the ground with a sniff.

“Say that one more time, and you can plan on joining me,” Cassian replied, absently buckling his belt diagonally across his chest, seemingly on instinct.

Bail stepped back quickly out of reach.

“Once was good enough, thank you,” he said.

Cassian rolled his eyes and turned, looking out at the horizon. 

“Come on!” Leia shouted suddenly, taking him by the hand and hopping nimbly out into the water.

Cassian lurched after her, turning his stumble into a dive and pulling her down with him. She shouted, flailing, and caught him in the stomach with a very pointy elbow. Cursing internally, he wriggled free and struck out for deeper water, grinning fiercely, soaking in the cold and the salt and the _life_ that came with being one with the sea. Leia followed, surprisingly quickly, and he pulled up short after several strokes, bobbing and spitting, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

Leia popped up beside him, also grinning, cheeks flushed with cold.

Cassian laughed for no reason at all, sweeping an arm across the surface and sending a wave into her face. She saw it coming and dove, grabbing his legs and tugging him under. He twisted and pulled her deeper. She broke away for the surface, and he followed.

Leia tried to glare at him, but her eyes were laughing too hard. Cassian laughed again and asked, “How long can you hold your breath?”

“Oh no,” Leia groaned, “Father warned me about this.”

Cassian’s grin, if possible, broadened.

“How long?” he repeated.

“Longer than he can, that’s for sure,” she replied, “But I haven’t been out in the water for a while.”

“Okay,” Cassian ducked his head quickly underwater again and popped back up, “Here’s what we’re going to do: I want you to hold onto my belt--” he tapped the worn synthleather strap across his chest.

Leia made a face. “I know how to swim, Cassian.”

“This is open water,” Cassian replied, “This is the sea. Not some lake. And we’re freediving, not just swimming.” When she looked in danger of refusing outright, he added, “Don’t be such a princess.”

Leia glared at him.

“Fine,” she said.

“If you start feeling like you need to breathe, tug. If you feel like we’re going too deep, tug,” he said, sternly, “I’ll be keeping time on my chrono, but don’t try to prove anything.”

“Yes, Dad,” Leia drawled, drawing the word out in some horrible impression of an Outer Rim accent.

Cassian rolled his eyes again. Nobility. Indeed.

“Ready?” he asked, turning his back to her. He felt her grip his belt. “Both hands,” he said.

Leia sighed loudly, accidentally kicking him in the thigh.

He got the message and took several deep breaths. He heard Leia do the same.

And then they dove.

The evening sun lanced through the water, setting the distant mossy seabeds glowing. Underwater, Alderaan was a different world, teeming with vibrant, wild life, far removed from the sharp elegance of its peaks and forests. He cut through the water at a steep angle, feeling the pressure build in his ears. Leveling out, he swam alongside a large school of moai, tiny little fish no larger than a handswidth, for a few strokes before breaking away and alighting on a large, green rock, completely shrouded in massive strands of kelp. He turned to Leia and grinned, pushing the thick, slippery strands aside, knowing, somehow, that he would find--a cave.

He peered into the darkness, bobbing just above the seafloor, disgruntled flounder whipping by underfoot. Lei tugged on his belt, and he held up two fingers in acknowledgement, pushing off and streaking for the surface.

They popped up together, Leia grinning deliriously, breathing hard through her mouth.

“You ready for a little exploring, Princess?” he asked, surprised to hear the comfortable teasing in his voice.

“With you?” Leia said, smiling, “Of course."

* * *

Bail Organa, Viceroy and First Chairman of Alderaan, was asleep on a rock, wrapped in several blankets, when they emerged, delirious, from the sea.

“Your Serene Highness,” Leia said loudly, sitting next to him with a wet slap.

Bail snorted awake, squinting up at them.

“I’m too old for this,” he groaned, sitting up. He eyed the wet bundle in Cassian’s arms. “The fark is that?”

“Mussels,” Leia said, pulling down the hood of her wetsuit, letting her hair shake free.

“Perfect,” Bail said, climbing to his feet, “I’m hungry.” He pointed at Cassian. “You’re cooking.”

“I’m cold,” Cassian said, shivering.

“Didn’t you say you were from Fest?” Bail said over his shoulder, scrambling back up to the speeder, “I’m flying.”

Cassian looked down at the mussels stacked in his dripping shirt and sighed.

Leia laughed.

* * *

“How many castles do you guys need?” Cassian muttered, staring sourly out the viewport, still wet, still shivering. Bail nudged another blanket across the center console. Cassian ignored it.

“This isn’t really a castle,” Leia said behind him, “Well, it hasn’t been for the last twenty thousand years or something.”

Cassian peered at the soaring synthstone spires of the ever-creatively christened Castle Organa, surrounded by thick, dark oro woods, and shook his head, returning his burning gaze to the pile of mussels in his lap, slowly seeping frigid ocean water through his trousers.

Bail guided them to a smooth landing in the small hangar bay, hopping out nimbly and waving with long-suffering familiarity at the tall, thin man who rushed out to meet them.

“Your Majesty!” the tall, thin man exclaimed, bowing deeply, “This is quite the surprise! I apologize for--”

“--It’s alright, Mazer,” Bail interrupted, “I should have thought to send word, but we’ll only be here for the night.”

Mazer, twitching fretfully and seemingly on the verge of collapse, looked over Bail’s shoulder and wilted still further.

“Princess Leia!” he said, “And--” his eyes widened, blankly, at the sight of the shirtless, dripping man glowering at her side.

“--Captain Andor,” Bail said firmly, in a tone that brooked no questions, “He’ll be staying with us.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Mazer bowed again, deeply.

“And don’t worry about dinner,” Bail continued, “We’ll take care of it.”

“Sir--”

“--Mazer,” Bail interrupted, eyebrows raised.

Mazer bowed again.

“Yes, sir. I’ll have the rooms prepared.”

“Thank you,” Bail replied.

Mazer bowed. Again.

Cassian sighed loudly. Leia turned to him in amusement as Mazer scurried off.

“‘Fresher for you first, I think,” Bail said, staring him up and down, “Force, and then I’ll have to find something for you to wear.”

“Why?” Leia asked suddenly, one elegant eyebrow arched, “I think he looks fine just the way the he is.”

Bail made some sort of strangled sound, adopting a distinctly deer-in-speeder-lights look. Cassian turned so quickly he dropped his bundle of mussels.

Leia savored the moment.

Then she snorted, “ _Men_ ,” and marched off towards the turbolifts, regal head held high.


	21. Family Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family time.

“You won’t believe what I found,” Bail said, voice slightly muffled by the ‘fresher door.

“I don’t care what you found,” Cassian snapped, towel-wrapped, warm and dripping, “Just give me something to wear.”

“Exactly,” Bail said, “I found some of my old things. Very old things. From when I was about Leia’s age, and I think they might fit you.”

Cassian leaned his head against the door.

“Are you trying to make a point here?” he demanded, sticking a hand out of the ‘fresher, “If not, I’d really just like to put on some clothes.”

Bail shoved a thick bundle of fabric into his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he said, a little disgruntled.

Cassian slammed the door shut.

He stormed into the kitchen scant minutes later, overlong trousers tucked into his boots, clad in a soft, worn tunic clearly of Alderaanian cut, and dumped a large, rustling pile of blue synthleather and fur onto the counter in front of Bail.

“You really expect me to wear this?” he demanded, “I said I was cold, not freezing.”

Bail looked at him mildly, calmly stripping mussels. Leia, at the cooktop, didn’t bother to hide her amusement.

“It’s a warm coat,” Bail replied, “I got it when I finished my A-wing certification on Corellia.”

“It has fur,” Cassian said.

“It’s very fashionable,” Bail replied.

“I don’t care.”

“It used to be my favorite coat.”

Cassian pressed his lips together, clearly swallowing a strongly-worded retort. He snatched the coat off the counter and tossed it out into the sitting room.

Returning to the kitchen with his datapad, he snarled, “Give me that. You’re doing it wrong.”

Bail handed him the mussels and stood aside, wandering over to the cooktop and wiggling his eyebrows at his daughter.

“He’s very sensitive about these sorts of things,” he said.

Cassian frowned ferociously down at his datapad as he absently finished stripping the rest of the mussels. He slammed open a series of cabinet doors with contained violence, searching for seasonings.

Leia raised an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t like asking for things,” Bail observed sagely, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter, “So he doesn’t.”

Cassian spotted the spice rack on the very top shelf of the very last cabinet. He tiptoed. Cursed. Hopped onto the counter instead and carefully inspected every little transpariplast bottle before selecting three and setting them carefully down on the counter.

“It just gives him an excuse to get grumpy when someone gives him something,” Leia said, just as seriously.

Cassian slammed the cabinet door so hard the adjacent door flew open. He turned to face them.

“Having fun?” he snarled.

“Yes,” Leia said, “Lots.”

* * *

Bail confiscated Cassian’s datapad during dinner (“It’ll be another two days before they even reach the Outer Rim, Cassian. Sit. Down.”), and Leia surreptitiously surveyed this enigmatic captain of Rebel Intelligence from under thick lashes.

He poked sullenly at his mussels, frowning faintly into his beard, but under all that, she sensed a vague uncertainty, a vague, nebulous sense of preoccupation that extended to dangerous introspection. Well, best to hit the nail on the head.

“Why don’t you want to stay on Alderaan, Cassian?” she asked.

For a spy, he really was remarkably transparent. Surprise, embarrassment, followed by grudging respect flitted across his face.

Bail set his wine glass down carefully, shifting in the way that she knew meant he was listening intently.

Cassian didn’t answer for a while, carefully chewing and swallowing a miniscule bite of mussel. He shot Bail a look. Bail shrugged.

“It’s not that I don’t want to stay,” Cassian said slowly, staring fixedly at a point somewhere over her father’s shoulder.

“Then what?”

His frown deepened, drawing his eyebrows together, carving out harsh lines across his face.

“I’ve been with the Rebellion a long time,” he said at last, turning to face her, “Since the Treaty of Geonosis.” At that, Leia shot her father a look. Another undiscovered layer. “Specifically in the Outer Rim,” Cassian continued, setting his fork down.

“What he’s not saying,” Bail interrupted, “Is that he founded Rebel Intelligence in the Outer Rim. Without him, there would be no Rebellion beyond the Core. And possibly no Rebellion at all.”

Cassian looked distinctly uncomfortable at that but said nothing.

“So that’s how you know Travia Chan,” she said.

A flash of--guilt? Possibly.

“Yeah,” he replied, flat, emotionless.

“You don’t trust anyone to take your place if you leave,” Leia said, “That’s what you’re worried about.”

“More or less.”

“Because you’re irreplaceable.”

Cassian winced.

“I didn’t mean--”

“--no, you’re right,” Leia said, very young, very keen, “You are. Irreplaceable.”

Cassian looked away, fidgeting with the edge of his glass.

Leia felt her father’s eyes on her. There was something here she was coming very close to uncovering. She could sense it. She wanted it. She wanted to know why this man, this lost, lonely man, was sitting with them in their ancient family home in her father’s clothes, scowling at his nearly-empty glass of Algerian wine.

She also wondered, though, what good would come of it now.

Leia sat back, then, and took a measured drink.

“So,” she said, “Eadem tells me that there’s a strong oral tradition in Scryllic.”

 _Conversation whiplash_ , her father had called it, _You’ll be a terrifying politician one day_.

Cassian blinked.

“That’s right,” he said vaguely.

“Perfect,” Leia said, “I’d love to hear some. My Scryllic’s not as good as Father’s, but I think I can get by.”

Cassian blinked again. Bail sighed.

“Give the poor man a break, Leia,” he said, mildly reproving, “He almost froze to death taking you out diving, and now you want him to tell you stories?”

“No, I don’t mind,” Cassian said quickly, to everyone’s surprise. He finished off his wine. “What do you want to hear?”

“What do you remember?” Leia asked.

Bail sat back a little defensively, eyes sharp.

“There’s an old poem we all had to learn in school,” Cassian said, also sitting back, gaze also sharp, fixed on Bail. “It’s called ‘The Girl and the Sea.’ An old favorite of mine.”

“Well, I’d love to hear it,” Leia said.

Cassian turned to look at her then.

He smiled small and a little sad, and began.

* * *

Bail sighed heavily.

“I’ll go find Mazer,” he muttered.

“No, it’s fine,” Cassian said quickly, very red, “I’ll just sleep in the sitting room.”

“You’re not sleeping in the sitting room,” Bail said shortly.

“I’ll sleep in the sitting room,” Leia said.

“ _No one_ is sleeping in the sitting room,” Bail snapped.

“Well, then just point me to another room and I’ll go sleep there,” Cassian said, “You don’t need to go find somebody to make my bed for me.”

Bail sighed and jerked his chin over his shoulder.

“This way,” he said.

Cassian followed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, once Leia was out of hearing distance, “I didn’t realize--”

“--No, it’s not your fault,” Bail interrupted, “Mazer’s good at what he does. Just a bit too good, sometimes,” he added with a sharp look.

Cassian stopped dead in the hall.

“ _Bail_ ,” he said, flushing a even deeper shade of red, “I don’t--I would never--” he cut himself off, running a sudden, agitated hand through his hair. “She’s your daughter,” he said finally.

Bail watched him, protective, protectively. It was all very confusing. He unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“I’m not saying that I’d have a problem with it--” he began.

Cassian shook his head violently, stepping back reflexively.

“Bail, the _fark_ , she’s hardly of age. We’re almost a decade apart!”

Bail grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not what I--” he sighed, dropped his hand. “I know,” he said, “I didn’t mean right this instant.”

Cassian looked out one of the large, transparisteel windows lining the hall as if he was very much in favor of defenestration.

“She’s fond of you,” Bail said.

“Curious, you mean,” Cassian replied wryly, “Very different.”

Bail cocked his head.

“She’s always been curious,” he said.

They stared at each other for a moment longer.

“All I’m saying,” Bail said finally, seriously, “Is that I trust you with her.”

Cassian flinched, a full-body movement he tried to mask by turning to the window, leaning against the wall and looking out into the darkness.

Bail, sensing he had said something wrong, waited.

Cassian bowed his head, briefly. Breathed, quietly. Turned back to face him.

Bail looked into his eyes and understood, if only vaguely, distantly.

“Cassian,” he said, stepping forward, a reflex of his own. “I’m sorry.”

Cassian shook his head, licked his lips, clasped his hands behind his back. Bail waited a moment, then gestured back down the hall.

Cassian followed.

* * *

Leia heard footsteps in the hall. Quiet, almost impossible to make out unless they had been sought. They retreated softly down the stairs, fading into silence.

A few minutes later, she heard the door to her father’s room creak open and closed. His heavy footsteps followed, down the hall, past her door, fading away as well down the stairs.

She wondered at this.

And, still more, wondered why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the good times don't last.


	22. Someday

He hadn’t thought about it in years. Hadn’t allowed himself to. But it’d always been there, resting, silent, in the back of his mind, coiling, uncoiling. Lying in wait.

Family.

He slept in this unfamiliar bed in this unfamiliar place, a home so old and so full of a comfort found only through years upon years of golden-aged peace. He did not belong here, he knew this, and yet--

Fitful, fretful dreams replaced fitful, fretful sleep.

_“I trust you with her,” Travia said, grey eyes wary, weary._

_He couldn’t speak, so he looked away, out the window of her little office in a bunker half-buried in last month’s snow._

_“Do you understand what I’m saying, Cassian?”_

_He turned back to her, to her grey eyes and grey hair and grey skin, every shade neutral, tired._

_“I do,” he replied, shifting his rucksack on his shoulder._

_Wordless expectation rose around them._

_“I’ll come back,” he said, responding to her unspoken question, “Of course I’ll come back. You know I will.”_

_Grey eyes, sharp, sharper still now in his memory._

_“I do,” she said, sitting back, defeated, “You always have.”_

_This, he still did not understand, so he nodded, at once a boy and a man, and left Fest for the first time in eleven years._

_He would return. He would always return._

_He had never left any family behind._

* * *

Bail lay awake in the bed that had once been his father’s, Cassian’s face, stricken, in his mind.

Somehow, he had misspoken.

He had recognized the grief, for that was what it had been--naked remembrance of loss. But this loss had been different, different from the unanswerable questions of a tortured conscience. It had been familiar, far too familiar, to this line of House Organa.

It was the loss of a child.

 _My wife and I have always wanted to adopt a baby girl,_ he had said aboard the _Tantive III_.

Obi-Wan had known why. So, probably, had Master Yoda.

There had been no indication of a child in Cassian’s meticulously compiled personnel file, no indication at all, and yet--

Pieces began to fall into place.

The guilt. The unflinching loyalty. The need, aching and wild, to trust and be trusted. The furious, punishing denial of every one of these things.

Bail sat up, stomach sinking.

Quiet footsteps, wary and tired, crept by his door.

He stood, gathering himself, and followed.


	23. Lost Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything begins to make terrible sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight crossover with Chapter 10 of _Alternatively,_.

“You need to talk about this,” Bail said.

Cassian ignored him, slumped in a large chair in the sitting room, his face buried in his hands, the curve of his back speaking exhaustion.

“Cassian.” Bail sank wearily into the seat across from him, waving on the lights. “I know this is different.”

Cassian looked up at him sharply, hollow-eyed with guilt.

“What happened?”

Cassian stood, ready to bolt, to run. To leave behind.

Bail stood as well, nearly a head taller, staring him down.

A string, taut, strained, straining, snapped.

Unbidden, words spilled from his mouth, like the tide, rushing in, rushing out, constant, violent.

“Ten years ago,” Cassian said hoarsely, “On Fest. You asked me to be your aide in the Senate. I said no. I stayed on Fest.”

This, Bail remembered very clearly.

“Eight years ago, Senator Mothma asked me to lead the Fest battalion of the Atrivis Sector Group. I said yes. I stayed on Fest.”

Cassian took a breath, held it, let it out, turned away.

“Six years ago, the Empire overran our headquarters on Fest, and the survivors fled to Generis. I didn’t. I went to Yavin 4.” He looked up at Bail, heavily. “I left Fest. I left Fest for Yavin 4.”

“Why?”

The young man looked down, arms across his chest, rigid, defiantly refusing the guilt, the grief.

“Cassian.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched, not breathing, not speaking, frozen, caught in an endless denial.

“Cassian, please.”

Bail reached out, placed both hands on trembling shoulders. Cassian stiffened.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he choked, still looking down, still looking away, “You shouldn’t ever trust me with anything. Anyone. Least of all your _daughter_.”

Cassian sat suddenly, fell back into his seat, crumpled. He leaned forward again, fisting his hands in his hair. Bail crouched before him, uncertain, frightened. This was it, the inevitable implosion, the one he’d sensed coming two years ago in the cargo hold of his unmarked cruiser the day he’d realized who, exactly, this was.

“Cassian,” he said quietly, “You’re the most trustworthy man I know. That’s the truth.”

Cassian shook his head, fiercely, rocking back and forth, and back and forth, ragged breaths wrenching free.

“I killed them,” he whispered, “I killed them. Like Ro killed my father. I killed them.”

“Who?” Bail said, holding him still, holding him together, “Who did you kill?”

Cassian shook his head again, violently, grief thick and stifling.

“Cassian, please. Tell me--”

“-- _had a son_ ,” Cassian gasped into his hands, eyes fixed on the ground, “ _I_ _had a son!_ ”

And, inevitably, he shattered.

* * *

Bail held him numbly. Gathered the pieces in his arms, picked them up off the floor, checked to see he hadn’t missed any, and put them back together.

Cassian sobbed wretchedly, like something broken, splintering, forever.

There were no words. They could not speak.

Bail sat on the carpet and waited for a lifetime’s spring of grief to run dry. When it did, he would be there, to scour it, to mend it, to fill it with hope.

\--

 

 

\--

“What were their names?”

 

“Tantim. Jeron.”

 

\--

 

  

\--

 

“You and Travia--”

 

“--We never talked about it.”

 

\--

 

“Cassian, you know it wasn’t your fault.”

 

\--

 

“It’s one thing to know it. Believing it is something else. Isn’t it.”

 

\--

 

\--

 

They sat on the carpet together, shoulder to shoulder, in the heavy, heady silence of night.

Cassian leaned into him, spent, defenseless.

He was just a boy. A sad, lost boy with the fears of a grown man.

“I miss them,” he whispered, quiet, small, “I miss them so much.”

Bail tightened the arm he had across his shoulders.

He said nothing. He could say nothing, too full of understanding.

Cassian melted into him then, drunk with grief, face turned into his shoulder, hiding, for a moment, in this unexpected shelter.

Over time, his breathing evened, deepened, soft and steady.

Bail sat.

He stayed.

* * *

Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, descended the ancient wooden stairs of her family’s ancestral home well before dawn the next morning, a whispering sense guiding her to the sitting room, where she found her father asleep against the sofa, Cassian pressed into his side.

She stood and watched, overwhelmed suddenly by a sense of peace, echoing down a long hall of grief.

Somehow, she thought she understood.


	24. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, halfway across the galaxy...

The plan was to get to Tatooine in one piece, land in one piece, find some Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi in one piece, and make the hop to Radnor, home to the galaxy’s most advanced civilian planetary comsat array, to commune with Bail and Cassian on Alderaan, also in one piece.

Kaytoo thought there were far too many pieces involved for something that was theoretically required to exist as a whole.

He, of course, had made his opinion well known before they’d even cleared Alderaan’s atmosphere, and Ro found himself wishing this massively irritating lump of durasteel was no more than that--a massively irritating lump of durasteel he could shove out of the emergency airlock.

But Bail had told him, in the spaces between words, what the droid was to Cassian, so he bit his tongue and spent his time poring over what meager intelligence was available to them.

This was a source of both frustration and relief. Frustration because intelligence on Tatooine primarily concerned interactions with Jabba the Hutt and was utterly devoid of all else, including any helpful hints on how to find an old man named Obi-Wan Kenobi on a planet consisting of sand and sand and still more sand. Relief because there was not even the slightest indication that the Empire was aware of the existence of anything on Tatooine besides Jabba the Hutt and sand and sand and still more sand.

The droid was very aware of this fact. This meant that Ro was also very aware of this fact.

The former Republic-Intelligence-agent-turned-fisherman-turned-Rebel-agent glanced over his shoulder at the droid, who sat in the pilot’s seat, servos whirring neatly.

“What are you looking at?” the droid demanded suddenly, “It is impolite to stare.”

“Nothing,” Ro said, turning back to his datapad.

“That is a lie,” the droid said. It turned to face him, white optics unblinking, uncanny.

Ro ignored it. Him. It. Whatever. He refused to be baited by a _droid_.

“You don’t trust me,” it said, turning back to the forward viewscreen, “That’s fine. I don’t trust you either.”

What was it with these Rebels and _trust?_

Stupid question, really.

* * *

Cassian was gone when Bail struggled to alertness again, back sore, neck aching. He floundered out of a large blanket--Leia’s, he realized--and stood stiffly, familiar concern rising.

“‘Morning,” Leia said, sweeping into the sitting room and gathering up her blanket with a raised eyebrow, “What happened to no one sleeping in the sitting room?”

“Extenuating circumstances,” he muttered, looking blearily around, “Have you seen Cassian?”

“He went down to the beach a few hours ago.”

Bail squinted at the clock.

“A few hours--” he turned back to his daughter, “How long have you been up?”

Leia shrugged, casually, not meeting his eye.

Bail sat heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You both were asleep when I came down,” Leia said finally, perching on the back of the sofa. She looked down at the blanket in her hands. “I think I startled him.”

Bail shook his head.

“You don’t need to explain,” Leia continued, “Whatever’s going on is his business, and I don’t want him to feel like he can’t talk to you--”

“--Leia,” Bail interrupted, looking up at her, “Leia, we don’t keep secrets in this family. You know this.”

Leia looked at him, considering, with old eyes in a young face.

“So he’s family,” she said.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Bail replied, “His father was--”

The front door swung open, and Cassian appeared in the front hall, barefoot, hair damp, and shrugging out of a rather overlarge blue coat with a fur-trimmed hood. He sensed them looking and turned, flushing slightly.

“It was cold this morning,” he said.

“I told you so,” Bail said.

They looked at each other, and Leia, on the outside, felt, for the first time, at peace with ignorance.

* * *

They landed on Tatooine in one piece, setting down in a rocky, craggy canyon to consider their next move.

As if they hadn’t spent the entire journey from the Core considering their next move.

“I’m sorry,” Bail had said on Alderaan, “We both thought it best if I didn’t know exactly where he was. He did mention something about moisture farms, and I think most of them are spread out across the Jundland Wastes. But knowing him… He’ll be the one to find you. If he wants to be found.”

That had not been reassuring in the slightest.

Ro glared at the largely uninformative holomap of Tatooine before him. Kaytoo, thankfully, was silently running diagnostics on the ‘ship, which certainly had not been designed to make the Corellian Run in anything less than a week.

They had landed just beyond the Jundland Wastes in the only canyon large enough to hide the Starfarer. Even then, he wouldn’t have trusted it to remain in one piece while he went and walked around a desert looking for some old man who might know whether or not Alderaan was about to be blown into little bits if not for the fact that he’d be leaving behind one very irritating, very dangerous Imperial security droid to keep watch.

Well, that was one thing it was good for, at least.

The ‘ship’s scanners bleeped an alert. Ro heard Kaytoo pause in the hyperdrive bay.

They made it down to the cockpit at the same time.

“A landspeeder is approaching along the canyon,” Kaytoo said, bringing up long-range sensors, “We have two minutes before we are discovered.”

Ro compulsively checked the blaster on his thigh, its weight unfamiliar.

“Well, fark,” he said.

“That is unhelpful.”

“It’s just one landspeeder, right?” Ro said, “Can’t be anyone who saw us land. Jabba would send a hunting party.”

“The probability of--”

“--okay, I get it,” Ro said, peering out the forward viewport, “Whoever’s on it shouldn’t know we’re even here, so we should be able to catch him by surprise, maybe ask some questions, take his speeder.”

Kay looked down at him.

“For a former Republic officer, you demonstrate a remarkable lack of conscience.”

“What would you know about that?” Ro snapped, “You’re a _droid_.”

“I’ve been programmed to understand that--”

“--Ah, fark off,” Ro snarled, storming from the cockpit.

He hopped out of the ‘ship, snapped a scope onto his blaster, and crouched behind a large outcropping. In the distance, he could hear the wheezing clank of aged repulsors struggling against lumpy, uneven sand. Not Imperial then. Thank the stars for small blessings.

Another few breaths and a large sand plume appeared just around the bend, turning, turning, quickly.

Ro held his breath, steadied the blaster against his shoulder. Shoot to disable, not kill.

A clattering monstrosity of a landspeeder chattered into view, slowing, inexplicably, some distance before the rough cavern that only just managed to conceal the Starfarer. A slight figure in a billowing brown robe slid to the ground.

Ro squeezed the trigger.

It was a good shot.

Or would have been, had the man--it was indeed a man, Ro could see now, even under the cowl of that ridiculously large robe--not stepped neatly out of the way.

Stepped out of the way. Of a blaster bolt.

Ro squeezed the trigger again before his mind caught up.

“Ah, _fark_ ,” he muttered.

The man in the robe stepped out of the way of this second blaster bolt as well, cocking his head as if amused.

“I’m guessing Bail isn’t with you,” he called, his voice sharp, clipped, wryly amused, steeped in the Core, “Usually, he waits until _after_ I’ve lost my mind to start shooting at me.”

Kaytoo chose that moment to step out of the ‘ship and say, blandly, “Positive identification. This is the man we are looking for.”

Ro narrowly refrained from centering his blaster between those two irritating optics.

He stood instead, leaning his blaster up against his shoulder, muzzle up.

“Kenobi?” he shouted at the man, feeling completely and utterly ridiculous.

The man approached, every stride full of power, confidence. He tossed back the cowl of his robe to reveal a mane of strikingly white hair. At twenty paces, Ro felt the hairs on his back stand on end.

 _Jedi_ , he thought.

“That’s right,” the man said, blue eyes sharp, cutting.

“The Viceroy sent me,” Ro said, looking up at him, “But I think you already knew that.”

“I did.”

The Jedi’s voice _bled_ Coruscant, rich and refined beyond Imperial aspirations.

They evaluated each other, though Ro was certain he learned far less than he revealed.

“Lyron Tryhane,” he said finally, sticking out his hand, “Call me Ro.”

Some of the hard edge left the deep lines around the Jedi’s eyes.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, taking Ro’s hand, “Call me Ben.”

“ _I’m_ K-2SO,” the droid said from the ‘ship, “Since we’re all taking the time to get to know each other.”

Ro sucked in a deep breath and pressed his lips together.

Ben Kenobi might have smiled, but Jedi didn’t smile, did they?

“It is an honor,” Kenobi said, inclining his head in the droid’s direction, perfectly courteous. He turned back to Ro. “Now,” he said, and he _was_ smiling. It was a grim, pained thing, but it was a smile nonetheless, “What has the good senator from Alderaan gotten himself into?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anticlimatic?
> 
> Yeah.


	25. On the One Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian makes a decision. Ro begins to question his sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References Karen Miller's _Clone Wars_ series.

The last transmission from the Starfarer had been nearly two days ago, which was surprising only in that they had received anything at all from the outer reaches of the Mid Rim, given the ‘ship’s admittedly limited comms.

Cassian forced himself away from the comsat, pacing to the large transparisteel window that overlooked the interior of Aldera. Bail had been called away to the Alderaanian Senate on official business shortly after their return from the Apalis Coast. Cassian found himself missing that cold, bright sea, that warmth of companionship. He looked down at the datapad in his hand. At the forms he had completed weeks ago. Wondered at the weakness he had rediscovered within himself.

Knowing it was there, somehow, made the decision easier.

A sharp chirp--an incoming ‘call from Kes. Of course. _Force-guided_ timing.

He smacked “Accept” and sat back on the window ledge, balancing the datapad on his knees.

“Oh. Hey,” Kes said, surprised, “You actually picked up.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that,” Kes snorted, “Hold on a sec. Let me get Shara.”

He leaned away from the hololens, rolling in his chair away out of their quarters on Yavin 4 into the hall, and thundered, “ _Shara, your favorite degenerate finally accepted my call! Get in here, woman!_ ”

Cassian winced.

Kes rolled back into view, grinning.

“How’s Kaytoo?” he asked, blatantly ignoring Cassian’s irritation, “It’s really quiet without him standing around questioning the meaning of my existence.”

“He’s fine,” Cassian replied mechanically, glancing out the window.

“Aaaand that means you can’t tell me what’s going on,” Kes said, frowning a little, “You’re mixed up in something again, aren’t you?”

“When isn’t he?” Shara said, pulling up a chair. To her husband, she said, “Why do you always have to ‘call him when I’m in the ‘fresher?”

“You’re _always_ in the fresher,” Kes replied cheekily, “Should probably get that checked out in medbay.”

He yelped as Shara smacked his arm.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, “Medbay. You never explained.”

Shara looked pained. Kes laughed.

“Lieutenant Bey dropped a ‘spanner into her A-wing’s engine well,” he said, “And jammed her thumb trying to get it out. Arvel grounded her for three days until she could make a fist again.”

“He was lucky I didn’t put it in his face,” Shara growled.

Cassian laughed.

“ _Someone’s_ in a good mood today,” Kes said, “You must be so excited to be coming back to your nice, warm bunk and your nice, warm bunkmate.”

Shara made a face.

“Actually,” Cassian said, smile fading, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I knew it,” Kes muttered, “You never pick up unless you have bad news.”

“Who said anything about bad news?” Cassian snapped, “Fark.”

“Very bad news,” Kes said to Shara, who ignored him.

“I’ve spoken with General Dodonna,” Cassian said.

“The old guy? He’s taking over, well, everything here since we’re done reshuffling everyone from Dantooine.”

“Yes, the old guy,” Cassian said impatiently. Then he paused, thinking about the most tactful way to go about announcing his decision. Hedged his bets. “He’s asked me to stay on Alderaan.”

Kes stared at him.

“To do what?” he asked.

“Core Intelligence,” Cassian replied.

“Core Intelligence,” Kes repeated.

“Yeah.”

Shara and Kes looked at each other. Matching grins spread over their faces.

“That’s great, Cass!” Kes exclaimed.

Cassian blinked.

“It is?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Shara said, “You’ll get to stay on Alderaan, right?”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, suddenly hesitant, “But this isn’t about me, it’s--”

“You’ve accepted it, right?” Kes demanded, “Because--”

“Well, it seems like you’re both very eager to be rid of me--”

“--if you say no, I’ll lock you out of our room until I find some way to get Bail to permanently reassign you as his security attache.”

Cassian looked down, looked away.

“I was going to say yes,” he said quietly, “I’ve filled out the transfer forms.”

Kes stared at him.

“Good,” he said finally, looking at Shara. Turning back to the hololens, he repeated, “Good.”

Shara smiled, perhaps a little sadly.

“It’s the right decision,” she said.

* * *

Ro had no idea what he was doing.

He handed Ben Kenobi, the blaster bolt-dodging Jedi, a datachip and a reader.

“From Bail,” he said. After a pause, he added, “Only the two of them have seen this.”

“The two of them,” Ben repeated with an arched eyebrow.

Ro sighed.

“It’s complicated,” he replied.

“Really.”

Jedi weren’t supposed to have a sense of humor.

Ro watched Ben disappear into the rear cabin and returned to the cockpit to ruminate in silence.

* * *

Ben Kenobi felt every one of his fifty-six years as he watched his old friend flicker to life on the screen.

Bail Organa looked… _old_.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, lightly accented voice as rich and warm as he remembered. The-- _former_ , he had just learned--senator from Alderaan paused a moment, looking long and deep into the hololens. Then, he sat back wearily in his chair. “Fark, I feel old,” he muttered.

Ben smiled faintly.

“I wish I could be there in person,” Bail continued, “But you probably know things haven’t been going particularly well with the Rebellion, especially since I’ve sent a good friend clear across the galaxy to get this in your hands. I need your help,” he said, eyebrows drawing down a little, “And it has to do with the Force.”

Ben’s stomach plummeted. _Leia_.

Bail gestured off-camera, and a slight, bearded man came to stand beside him, arms clasped behind his back in a distinctly military fashion.

“This is Captain Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence,” Bail said, “And a very good friend of mine.”

That much, Ben could see.

“Cassian?” Bail prompted.

The Rebel captain cleared his throat, face completely still, as if giving a formal report.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he said stiffly.

Ben’s stomach, if possible, plummeted still further.

* * *

Cassian submitted his transfer papers and warily waited for his inbox to explode.

When his datapad did nothing but beep continuously for the next five minutes, he silenced it, set it on the comsat console, and went downstairs in search of lunch.

He found Leia instead, shouting into her comlink in the kitchen as she furiously prepared herself some sort of salad. He stood in the doorway and watched, a little bewildered, as she thrashed the life out of a tomato, emphasizing each stroke of her knife with a pointed curse.

She turned suddenly and saw him watching, eyebrows raised in challenge.

“No, I’m not asking him!” she snarled into her comlink, “And if you ask that sleazy, two-timing, nerf-herding piece of Imperial _shavit_  for me, there will be Sith-damned hells to pay!”

With another violent curse, she slammed her comlink down onto the counter with much more force than was strictly necessary and flung the knife into the sink.

Cassian blinked.

“Bad day,” he said.

“You think?” she snapped, then paused, visibly taking a breath. “Sorry,” she said curtly.

Cassian shrugged and snatched the pulverized salad from her hands, tossing it into the recombinator.

“Can I help?” he asked, rummaging around in the conservator.

“Yeah, by not tossing out my lunch!” Leia exclaimed, “I have to leave for the Senate House in a half hour!”

Cassian waved on the cooktop.

“That’s fine,” he said, plunking down a pot of water to boil, “I’ll fly you.”

“Cassian--” Leia broke off suddenly, watching as he patiently pinched out neat little dumplings from a sealed plastifoil container. She narrowed her eyes. “ _What_ are you doing?”

“Making lunch,” he replied.

“Why?” she demanded.

He looked at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“We have to leave for the Senate House in a half hour.”

Leia crossed her arms, frowning. Then, realization broke. She smiled.

“You’re staying,” she said, “You’ve decided.”

Cassian sighed.

“I have,” he replied, dumping the dumplings into the boiling water.

Leia laughed. Then, unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his waist. He stiffened, struggling frantically to remain in the here and now.

“This is great!” she exclaimed, ignoring his discomfort, “Father’ll be so glad to hear it! I honestly think he would have had you reassigned here with or without your consent.”

“Really.” He struggled out of her embrace and returned to the cooktop, stirring absently.

“But I knew you’d stay,” Leia said, “I always knew you wouldn’t leave Alderaan. This is home now, isn’t it?”

Her dark eyes, so sharp, so piercing, so unlike her father’s, met his.

He looked away.

“I guess so,” he replied.

* * *

Ben’s stomach was slowly congealing on the floor by the time they reached Radnor. The Force moved thickly, impenetrable, no matter how he sought to immerse himself in its piercing security. He made his way back to the cockpit, datachip and reader tucked under his arm, some distant part of him hysterically amused that Bail had sent for him in a _Starfarer_. The last time they’d been in a Starfarer together--well, Master Yoda had sent  _Padme Amidala_  to rescue them.

He released grief into the Force with a quiet breath.

Ro looked up at him warily and said, “Atmo in five.”

Ben acknowledged this with a nod.

It was time to call in some old favors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to drop a line to gauge interest--remember that “Beginnings” miniseries? And how it's snuck into every story I've written?
> 
> Would anyone actually be interested if that became an actual thing?


	26. Empire Builder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A juxtaposition of worlds. The oft-referenced Founding Day celebrations make a brief appearance. An even older, even more obscure friend emerges from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update before I go and literally run up the coast of California. Yeah, I don’t know why either.
> 
> References Jude Watson's _Jedi Quest_ series.

“You want me to _what?_ ”

“‘Joren Andor, Captain of the Guard,’” Leia said dramatically, sprawled across the grass, arm flung over her eyes, “It’ll be your perfect introduction to Alderaanian high society. You know, you already have quite the reputation in Eadem’s academic circles.”

“Leia--”

The princess sat up, hair falling in dark wisps around her face.

“Cassian, I’m asking you to escort me to the Founding Day celebrations, not dance naked across Aldera Lake. You could be a little more excited about it, you know.”

Cassian sighed and carefully sat down on the grass next to her, plucking a dandelion and considering it dubiously between pinched fingers.

“So that’s a yes,” Leia said.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.”

Leia cocked her head, considering.

“No,” she said cheerfully, flopping back down onto her back.

Cassian sighed again. Slowly, gingerly, he stretched out beside her.

An evening breeze rustled through the oro woods, and the small, white cairoka birds cooed quietly to each other, perfectly at peace. This open paradise, tucked between the northern face of House Organa and the western end of the Triplehorn Mountains, was technically part of the Royal Gardens, but that distinction, Cassian had learned, meant little on Alderaan. Everything was open to the people, even the palace itself. Anyone could walk up to the door and knock.

The thought was both horrifying… and fascinating.

As it was, he had yet to encounter an unfamiliar face in the palace itself, but the gardens were a different matter entirely. The people of Alderaan were one with the Living Force, it had been said somewhere, long ago. Cassian did not care to think of the Force, but he could say that the people of Alderaan were one with _life_. Quiet, measured footsteps trod the dirt path by their little clearing, voices, if any, low and considerate. The occasional horde of children tramped by, but even their chattering was no intrusion, brightness adding only to the peace.

“Ah. There you are.”

Long, measured bootsteps left the footpath, gently brushing through the grass with a whisper of cloth.

Cassian cracked an eye open.

“You’re back early,” he said.

“I received several urgent communiques from our mutual friends in the Outer Rim,” Bail said, unclasping his cloak and sitting beside them. “No, not those friends,” he said in response to Cassian’s alarm, “The other ones.”

Cassian closed his eyes again.

“Apparently,” Bail continued, “I have a new member of my Senatorial staff.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” Cassian asked.

“That’s what I’m calling it,” Bail said, stretching out in the grass, one booted foot over the other, “They’re calling you my security attache.”

“I wonder whose idea that was,” Cassian muttered.

“Your bunkmate’s, I believe,” Bail replied blandly.

“This was a bad decision,” Cassian sighed, without any real heat.

“I asked Cassian to be my escort to the Founding Day celebrations,” Leia said suddenly.

“Good,” Bail said smugly.

Cassian rolled over and groaned, hiding a smile in the grass.

* * *

“This is a bad idea,” K-2SO said.

“Thank you,” Ben replied, brushing past him out of the ‘ship.

He took a deep breath. It had been twenty-six years since he’d last stepped foot on Radnor. A lifetime.

A lifetime, it seemed, since he’d spoken to the short, powerfully-built Radnoran waiting for him on the private landing pad.

“Curi,” he said with a small bow, “It is good to see you again.”

“So it’s true,” she said neutrally, looking him up and down, “You survived.”

“I did,” he replied.

He waited, allowing her scrutiny.

“Galen’s dead,” she said finally, “I thought you should know.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said.

“I’m not,” Curi replied, “He can rot in hell.”

“He was your brother.”

“He was a liar and a cheat.”

Ben decided that now was the time to redirect the conversation.

“I’ve heard your comsat arrays have come online recently. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

Curi tilted her head slightly, surveying him through heavily-lidded eyes.

“The Empire will be here soon,” she said.

“You knew what would happen, and yet--” Ben waved a hand.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Curi said.

Ben thought about Bail’s message. About Captain Cassian Andor.

“You don’t know what the Empire is capable of,” he replied.

“No,” Curi insisted, “They wouldn’t _dare_.”

The Force coiled sickeningly.

“Curi,” Ben said hoarsely, “What have you done?”

* * *

“See,” Bail said, “Not so bad.”

Cassian glared at him in the mirror, straightening the double-breasted tunic across his chest.

“It feels like an Imperial uniform,” he muttered, turning, “Do I really need to go to this--” he scowled, “--gathering?”

“Yes,” Bail replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the door.

“There must be someone else,” Cassian insisted.

“Leia asked you,” Bail said, eyebrows raised, “If you want to be the one to tell her you refuse to be her escort to the Founding Day celebrations, I won’t stop you.”

“But aren’t there politics involved?” Cassian grasped at straws, “I’m not exactly--”

“--you’re just another member of the Royal Guard,” Bail said, “No politics. Regardless, Leia’s long been capable of making her own decisions in the public sphere. That’s what earned her the people's respect."

Cassian started unbuttoning the tunic, brow furrowed.

“Where did you get this thing, anyways?” he asked, “You just happen to have dress uniforms lying around in my size?”

“Of course,” Bail replied, blandly.

Cassian paused, fingers at his collar.

“No, wampa-brains,” Bail snorted, “We’ll have this tailored.”

“It fits fine,” Cassian said.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I don’t even remember the last time I wore a dress uniform that wasn’t Imperial.”

“Exactly.”

Cassian tugged the tunic off, thrusting it at Bail.

“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms across his bare chest protectively.

“Good,” Bail said, carefully folding the tunic over his arm, “You’ll also have to shave.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s protocol,” Bail replied, already halfway out the door, “You can keep the--” he turned, waving his fingers in the general area of his own goatee, “--but the rest of it has to go.”

“Anything else?” Cassian demanded acidly, “Brow waxing? Ceremonial piercings?”

“Haircut.”

“ _No_.”

“You look like a drowned womp rat.”

Cassian curled his lip.

“I _do not_.”

“Yes,” Bail replied, “You do. If you were a girl, we’d put you in braids.”

“Oh, _fark_ y--”

“--Keep tomorrow free. All day. I’ll have you sit down with Kriost.”

“Kriost.”

“My barber.”

“I have more hair than you do.”

“Keep this up, and it won’t be for long.” Bail smirked. “You know, you’re remarkably vain for a rebel.”

“I have self-respect, you mean.”

Bail snorted.

“Or misplaced fashion sense. What were you, raised in the Outer Rim?”

Cassian glared, shivering.

“Can I have my shirt back now?” he snapped.

“Promise me you’ll be nice tomorrow. Kriost is a very delicate man.”

“This is juvenile.”

“Promise?”

“I’m twenty-five standard, Bail. If you think the threat of temporary, partial public nudity is going to make me do anything I don’t want to do, then you’re in for a surprise.”

“Uh huh.”

Bail tugged Cassian’s shirt from his shoulder and tossed it across the room. Cassian snatched it out of the air.

“Karking crazy old man,” he muttered, tugging it on.

Bail’s laugh echoed in from the hall.

* * *

Bail hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that his barber was a very delicate man.

Sensibly, Bail waited until Kriost Huron, trembling and wheezing, had departed for safer shores before allowing Cassian in front of a mirror. He grimly waited in stark assurance of the reaction.

Cassian stared, blinked at his reflection, curiously devoid of any expression. He touched his cheeks, his jaw, sharp, smooth.

“I like it,” Bail said helpfully, warily, lingering in the doorway, his lunch in his hands.

Cassian didn’t reply. He brushed a hand through his hair, neatly combed back, just long enough to part.

“Cassian,” Bail prompted.

Cassian looked up at him.

“I look naked,” he said.

Bail snorted.

“Well, you’re not. You clean up well, I have to admit.”

“It runs in the family,” Cassian replied distantly.

* * *

“You’ve been working with the Empire,” Ben said.

For some reason, this surprised him. It really shouldn’t have. Of course Radnor, known the galaxy over for the tremendously advanced weapons programs of its militant past, would, in this age, have to be involved in some capacity with the Empire.

And yet--Galen. The Avoni. The bioplague.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Curi said, as if he didn't understand, “Believe me, it wasn’t an easy decision to make. But I had to do it for my people. To survive.”

Through the thick, streaming currents of the Unifying Force, he sensed her truth.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, empty words, full of regret.

Curi shook her head.

“Don’t apologize to me, Master Kenobi,” she said, “I’ve found a hurt conscience far easier to bear than an unpaid debt.” She met his eye evenly. “Though we might serve the Empire,” she continued, “We are no friends. Whatever you need, ask, and I’ll do whatever is in my power to see it happen." Her gaze hardened. "But first,” she said, “You’ll have to come with me.”

* * *

The tailor arrived after Bail had left for the Senate House. He returned late in the evening to find Cassian asleep on the settee.

Draping his cloak on its well-worn hook in the front entryway, Bail let the door slam shut behind him. Cassian jumped, blaster in his hand, crouched behind the caf table.

Bail frowned.

“We’ll have to work on that,” he said.

“Fark,” Cassian muttered, placing his blaster onto the table.

“That too,” Bail added, striding through the sitting room into the kitchen, “How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“Let me see.”

Cassian snatched the uniform off the back of the settee and flung it at him.

“No,” Bail said, throwing it back, “Put it on, you gundark.”

Cassian growled something uncharitable and stalked off to the ’fresher. Bail patiently peeled a starblossom as he waited, scrolling through his inbox.

“Happy?” Cassian snarled.

Bail looked up.

“ _Force_ ,” he exclaimed involuntarily.

The white tunic, crossed by a sash of pale blue satin, sat easily on Cassian’s narrow shoulders, gathering closely at his waist and flaring gracefully out just above his hips. The trousers, white with matching blue piping, were tailored to perfection, ending just below the ankle and brushing the heels of white riding boots. A ceremonial sword was belted to his side, just below the sash, and subtle gold insignia across the sleeves marked him as Captain of the Royal Guard.

“I feel like a fraud,” Cassian said.

“I should make this permanent,” Bail replied.

“Why do you all wear white?” Cassian fiddled with the gold braid on his white, peaked cap, tucked neatly under an arm, “Might as well paint a target on your chest.”

“It’s the color of the Royal Family,” Bail said, “Though I’m about as fond of it as you are.”

Cassian shifted uneasily.

“Can I take this off now?”

“No,” Bail said blandly, “This is fun.”

“Fark you,” Cassian muttered, stalking back to the fresher.

* * *

“Are there any others?” Curi asked.

Around them, the ‘lift hummed. Ro shifted uneasily in the far corner, fingers taut on his blaster. Kaytoo slouched behind them, feigning disinterest.

“I don’t know,” Ben lied, clasping his hands together deep in the folds of his robe.

“Your Padawan--”

“--is dead,” Ben said sharply.

Curi did not apologize. She did not need to.

The ‘lift eased to a stop. The doors opened.

A man stood before them.

Ro snatched up his blaster.

“ _Force,_ ” Ben said, hands falling to his sides, “Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?”

Ferus Olin grinned.

“Good to see you too, Obi-Wan,” he said.

* * *

“Thanks for doing this,” Leia said.

It was dark down by the lake, their way lit only by the lantern Cassian held in his hand.

He shrugged.

“I’ve always thought it was a stupid tradition to have an escort on Founding Day,” Leia continued, hands in her pockets, gravel crunching beneath her boots, “But the celebrations are always fun.”

They stopped together at the water’s edge, staring at the reflected lights of the city on the vast, dark mirror of Aldera Lake. He felt her eyes on him.

“I’m very glad you’re here,” she said.

He turned to her then, the lantern orange and warm in his hand.

“Your father says I have you to thank for that,” he said.

She smiled a little crookedly.

“He worries a lot,” she replied, “Mostly about things he can’t do anything about.”

“I still don’t--” he began, cutting himself off. He shook his head.

“What?”

He turned to look back out over the lake. She was so young.

“There’s a lot I still don’t understand,” he settled for saying.

She threaded her arm through his, laughing a little when he stiffened, looking down at her.

“Stop trying so hard to understand things,” she said, chin tilted back, eyes glinting, “You’re much less frightening when you’re not frowning.”

He snorted.

“I used to think about my birth parents,” she said in the same tone, “I always wanted to know. Were they alive? Where were they?” She shrugged, a tiny movement against his side. “Why’d they give me up?” He leaned into her, just a little. “But it just became--” she waved her free hand “--everything. Too much. I couldn’t stand it, trying to know and not understanding why. My father--” and here, somehow, Cassian knew she was referring to Bail, the warmth in her voice unmistakable, “--said he’d known my parents. That they’d fought together in the Clone Wars. That’s all he ever told me, but I always thought he knew more.” She looked up at him. “It never does any good, knowing, I think,” she said. “Because you’ve got it then, that thing you’ve wanted all your life, but now what? There’s a lot more to, well, _everything_ than just that, I think.”

Cassian looked away. Not so young, after all.

“If you have something good,” Leia said, “Does it ever help to ask why?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I always thought it was ridiculous that Ben kept going around in his Jedi robes. Great disguise, that.
> 
> 2\. How many of you actually know who Ferus is? Be warned: there is much more EU stuff on the horizon. _Much_ more.
> 
> 3\. The people have spoken (resoundingly).


	27. Dandelion Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Founding Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title courtesy of Ray Bradbury, who I’ve recently realised is largely responsible for the rather autobiographical, vignette-y nature of this piece.
> 
> Many, many references to the Legends 'verse. Let me know if you've any questions.

****“Next year’s going to be a really big one, but that doesn’t mean we’re holding back today,” Bail said, shrugging into his thick ceremonial robes, “You’ll get the full Founding Day experience. I promise.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cassian muttered, standing stiffly by in his Royal Guard uniform.

Bail turned to look at him and laughed.

“What?” Cassian snapped peevishly.

“I’ve just never seen anyone so unhappy about being the chosen escort of my daughter, _P_ _rincess of Alderaan_ ," Bail replied, adding, “It’s kind of a big deal.” He paused, considering, “You know, there are going to be a lot of eyes on you, so you might want to work on that.”

“What,” Cassian scowled, “You want me to pretend to be happy?”

“According to General Draven, you’re very good at pretending to be a great many things.”

Cassian’s scowl deepened.

Bail put a hand on his shoulder.

“Just--” he said bracingly, “Try to have a little fun, okay?”

“I’m your daughter’s escort,” Cassian said flatly, “And, against my _explicit_ advice, her only personal guard. You do not want me having _fun_.”

Bail frowned and opened his mouth, but they were interrupted by a loud, very undignified exclamation from the door.

“Holy Sith!” Leia said, staring at Cassian, eyes wide.

Bail raised his eyebrows. Cassian flushed, fingers twitching.

“Yes, I think so too,” Breha Organa added, pausing momentarily beside her daughter, wrangling with an earring.

Cassian, if possible, flushed a deeper shade of red.

“We should have put you in ceremonial _robes_ instead,” Leia said, pacing in a circle around him, her white gown rustling softly, “You’re going to steal the spotlight.”

Cassian grimaced, pressed his lips together.

“I don’t think so,” he said eventually, neutrally.

Bail snorted.

“Well, that’s a start,” he said.

“Your Majesties, Princess,” General Rieekan said from the doorway, then, seeing Cassian, his lips twitched as he added, “Captain.”

“Is it time?” Bail asked.

“Just about, sir,” the General replied.

Cassian stiffened.

“Terror is not an acceptable substitute for happiness,” Bail muttered to him as they swept out into the hall.

Leia snorted. Breha tried to look disapproving.

All too soon, they arrived in the hangar, and Cassian courteously helped Leia up into the white, open-air hover cruiser. He settled his cap on his head, lowering the brim so it shielded his eyes.

Leia squeezed his hand. He quirked his lips, looking down at her.

“Remember,” she whispered, “Smile and wave.”

“Fark,” he muttered under his breath.

With a nearly-inaudible hum, the repulsorlift engaged beneath them, and they slowly made their way out of the hangar down into the city, which had been transformed overnight into a blinding spectacle of glowing white, bunting draped from every window, white streamers rippling from thin reeds in children’s hands, white poppies pinned to every breast. The main street from the palace was filled, lined with cheering, joyful faces, pilgrims from all around the planet arrived to show their respect and partake in the festivities.

Cassian stood at rigid attention behind Leia, scanning the crowd under the cover of his cap. Leia stepped on his foot, hard, her smile never faltering--in fact, widening. She was laughing at him, he realized.

Almost wishing he was back on Ord Mantell, he raised a hand and forced a smile onto his face, hoping he wouldn’t frighten any children. Midway through the city, a little boy ran out onto the street and gravely presented Leia with a necklace of white lilies. Leia accepted the offering with a gracious smile and placed it around her neck, pressing a demure kiss to the boy’s cheek. The crowd cheered.

Cassian found he wasn’t trying so hard to smile anymore.

The wound their way down to the lakeside, where a massive funfair had been erected, market stalls replaced by rare book vendors and candied oro booths alike. A gleaming synthstone cauldron in the shape of a knotted, twisted Isatabith jungletree towered over all at the water’s edge. Beside it, on a raised platform, stood two elegant, veiled figures, also draped in white. Together, they held aloft a delicate, flickering torch made of glimmering crystal from the ancient mines of Pelannar.

Bail disembarked first, offering a hand to Breha, and they waited to the side for Leia and Cassian to join them. Bail offered a small smile in the interim as the hover cruiser departed and the crowd fell silent. He and Breha then ascended the platform towards the two veiled figures--women, Cassian could tell from here--and, together, gravely accepted the torch, holding it aloft for the briefest of moments before touching it to the base of the cauldron. Blue-white flame sprang up around the trunk of the synthstone jungletree, consuming an invisible fuel, licking, winding across the branches until it appeared the entire jungletree was engulfed in flames. And yet the synthstone remained unblemished.

As one, Bail and Breha turned to face the swelling crowd. Together, they spoke in Alderaanian, in a cadence Cassian couldn’t quite follow.

The crowd roared, a rumbling, living thing, full of celebration.

Leia turned to face Cassian, a similar light in her eyes.

“And that’s the worst of it,” she said, laughing at the surprise and confusion on his face, “You survived.”

“I have no idea what just happened,” he admitted.

“You’re probably not the only one,” Leia replied, smiling over his shoulder as her mother and father descended the platform, closely followed by the two now-unveiled women. “Oh Force,” she muttered under her breath, “Here we go.” She raised her voice, stepping away from him. “Aunt Rouge! Aunt Celly!” she exclaimed.

Bail made a brief face of resignation.

“Princess,” the taller woman replied, “It is good to see you returned to Alderaan.”

“I wouldn’t miss Founding Day for anything,” Leia replied, turning to her other aunt, “It _is_ good to see you Aunt Celly. I did my own hair this morning. Aren’t you proud?”

Celly Organa refrained from tutting in disapproval, but only just.

“Joren,” Leia said, turning to Cassian with a faint quirk to her lips, “These are my aunts, The Duchess Celly Organa of Belleau-a-Lir--” she indicated the shorter woman, “--and The Duchess Rouge Organa, Marshal of Crevasse --” she indicated the taller woman, who pursed her lips, “Aunties, this is Captain Joren Andor, of the Royal Guard, who was so kind as to be my escort today.”

Cassian felt distinctly uncomfortable as both women swung nearly identical, evaluative gazes in his direction.

“Your Highnesses,” he said politely, with a perfectly regulation inclination of his head.

Bail cleared his throat, loudly.

“Great,” he said, “Now that you all know each other, let’s go have fun.”

Both his sisters turned scandalized looks in his direction as he shrugged out of his ceremonial robes, draping them over an arm and stretching in his dusky blue tunic.

“ _Bail_ ,” Celly snapped.

“It’s Founding Day, Cee,” Bail said wearily, “They’re celebrating us. I’d actually like to, you know, _celebrate_.”

Leia smothered a laugh, and Breha adroitly removed the foot from her husband’s mouth by ushering the two aunts into the shade of a nearby jurop tree, a hand on each woman’s elbow, seriously requesting advice on something involving braids.

Bail sighed, watching them go.

“Will Aunt Tia be coming at all?” Leia asked, after a pause.

Bail shook his head.

“I did send her a formal invitation,” he said distantly, “But she sent word she’ll be staying on in Juranno for a while.” He shrugged a little stiffly. “I guess it’s all for the best.”

Leia shot Cassian a look that clearly meant _don’t ask_.

Cassian kept his mouth shut and fiddled with the hilt of his sword.

“I bet I’ll beat you in the derby this year,” Leia said suddenly, slyly.

Bail shook himself, snorted. He looked down his nose at his daughter.

“Don’t be getting ahead of yourself, young lady," he said.

"You're getting old, you know," Leia replied.

“Derby?” Cassian asked.

* * *

“ _What_ are you doing here?” Ben demanded as the doors to one of the the private comms rooms hissed shut behind them. He turned to Curi, who smiled a little.

“We’re not _all_ traitors,” she said pointedly.

“Who is he?” Ro demanded, blaster still drawn, though lowered, in a twitching hand.

Ben reached out to Ferus through the Force, saying, _He’s a friend. Of sorts_.

He sensed Ferus’s mental snort.

_Well, that’s reassuring._

They shared a quick glance.

“Sorry,” Ferus said, stepping forward and offering a hand with an easy smile, “I’m Ferus. Ferus Olin. I’ve worked with Obi-Wan before.”

“Ro,” the shorter man replied, taking his hand with all the enthusiasm of a freshly-sheared bantha being led to slaughter, though he did holster his blaster. Ferus took this as a definite improvement.

The Imperial security droid, however, though clearly _not_ an Imperial security droid, surveyed him with a wordless attitude that spoke volumes.

“I’m guessing that’s one of ours?” Ferus said, pointing.

The droid drew back as if offended.

“ _I’m_ K-2SO,” it said petulantly, “I’m a--”

“--reprogrammed security droid,” Ro snarled, “ _Yes_ , we get it.”

Ferus and Obi-Wan shared another look. For a former member of the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan sure had a penchant for picking up strange traveling companions.

“I came ahead to smooth the path a little,” Ferus said, after a moment’s silence. He shot Curi a pointed look. “It’s been a while, and some people forget things.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“She shot me,” Ferus explained, “Or tried to.”

“Oh great,” Ro said, “Another one.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“I guess Ferus has told you we need to use your comsat?” he said to Curi, who nodded.

“It’s yours,” she said, gesturing to the console in the middle of the room.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head.

Curi took that for the dismissal it was and exited the room. Ferus sensed her activate the security lock that would prevent anyone from entering. Or exiting.

“Right,” Ferus said into the ensuing silence, “Who wants to tell me what this is all about?”

* * *

“You forget, my very young daughter,” Bail said with a fierce grin, “That horseracing is a different sport entirely from the steeplechase.”

“You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose,” Leia shot back.

“Horses,” Cassian repeated, “Actual horses.”

Leia, for once, looked down at him from her mount, a flighty black gelding frothing at the mouth.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join in?” she asked, “It’s kind of tradition.”

“I’ve never even _seen_ a horse before,” Cassian replied, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Bail laughed, loud and strong.

“That’s the first I’ve heard you back down from a challenge,” he barked, wheeling his mount, a positively massive bay beast with four white stockings, around to face the paddock gate.

Cassian looked down at his white boots, then up at Bail, squinting in the sun.

“I don’t want to get my clothes dirty,” he said.

“Right,” Bail replied, thoroughly amused. To his daughter, he said, “Shall we?”

“Ready when you are, old man,” Leia returned.

Bail nodded at the marshal, who raised a bugle to his mouth, sounding three notes, long and ascending. Cassian stood to the side and watched the line of horses, led by the viceroy and princess of Alderaan, file out onto the hard-packed sand. It was with some consternation that he found this left him very much alone.

“Captain Andor,” came a voice at his shoulder.

He turned.

“Your Majesty,” he said.

“Why don’t you come join me at the finish?” Breha asked, blessedly devoid of whispering, disapproving aunts.

“Ah,” Cassian replied, “Of course.”

When he didn’t move, Breha prompted, “I have a speeder waiting.”

Cassian inclined his head stiffly and followed, keeping just one pace behind, feeling, once again, a fraud in his false uniform.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked in the privacy of the speeder, another member of the Royal Guard at the controls.

“I think so,” Cassian replied, balancing his cover on a knee.

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

He shot her a wry look, and Breha laughed.

“You’re doing very well,” she said, “Bail keeps saying we should make this a permanent thing since you’ve _finally_ decided you’ll be staying on Alderaan, but I really think that Captain of the Royal Guard is a bit beneath you.”

“Flattery,” Cassian said with a smile.

“Though I have to say--you look like you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“What?”

“This whole--”  Breha waved a hand, “--ceremonious, politics thing.”

Cassian glanced down at his uniform.

“I have,” he admitted, “On Fest.” He hesitated. Continued. “You could say I was the captain of Travia’s personal guard. For a time.”

Breha cocked her head.

“Well, that would explain it,” she said simply. “Either way, thank you for agreeing to this,” she continued, “Leia’s been in a tough spot lately.”

“Really?” Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“Only child of the Royal Family, and recently come of age?” Breha replied, arching an eyebrow of her own, “You bet.”

“Ah.”

Cassian looked away out the window as the speeder slowed to a stop, then hopped out and offered Breha a hand.

“Why, thank you, Captain,” she said grandly, stepping gracefully down into the sand, “There’s a box for us just up there.”

She pointed to a large grandstand erected just beyond the pale streamers marking the finish.

They made their way through the crowd and up the stairs, and Cassian tensed, hyperaware of any hands that came too near, any glances that could be construed as anything less than friendly. Breha glanced back at him as if she could read his thoughts. Discretely, she brushed a hand across his arm and smiled.

“We’re on Alderaan,” she said quietly as they settled in their box.

“I know,” Cassian replied. He adjusted the brim of his cap with twitching fingers.

A sharp crack snapped across the crowd, and he flinched violently, hand falling to the empty space where his blaster was supposed to be.

“Starting gun,” Breha said with that same familiar smile. She pointed down the shore, “Look! Here they come!”

Two kilometers away, he could make out a seething mass of dark bodies on bleached sand, hear the muffled pounding of hooves. Around them, the rumbling of the crowd grew, necks craned, shouts ringing, ringing as they drew nearer.

“Come on!” Breha shouted with the rest of them, “Come on, Bail, you old man!”

Cassian laughed in thrilled surprise as the horses approached, a group of three--a grey, a bay, a black--pulling away, faster, faster, churning through the sand. Then, the grey dropped off with less than two hundred meters to go, and father and daughter surged ahead together. The crowd roared in delight.

“You’ve got him now, Princess!” a man below them shouted.

“Come _on_ , Bail!” Breha cried, “You old lump of bantha lard!”

“You can catch him, Leia!” Cassian shouted, smirking as Breha turned to him with mock betrayal on her face, “Come on!”

One hundred meters, fifty--a blink of an eye as they flashed by, neck and neck.

“The princess, the princess!” the man below them shouted, “The princess by a nose!”

Across the grandstand, others echoed his declaration. A moment later, the official announcement, booming across the sand, confirmed this moment, this changing of the guard, and all, young and old alike, cheered.

Beside him, Breha shook her head, a smile on her face.

“It’s a sign,” she said.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, flushed with excitement, eyes bright, “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Aach) might be a spoiler. 
> 
> Then again, it might not.
> 
> (But the ramifications are enormous.)


	28. In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost.

Ferus Olin frowned as the holovid flickered out.

“You think these could be Force visions?” he said to Obi-Wan, “But we don’t even know if he’s Force-sensitive. If he is, the Empire should have found him as a child.”

“Never heard of Scarif, have you?” the angry old man with the blaster said, back to the wall, facing the door.

Ferus turned to him.

“No,” he replied.

The angry old man snorted.

Puzzled, Ferus shot Obi-Wan a look.

 _What’s_ _his_ _problem?_

Obi-Wan ignored him, stroking his beard, deep in thought.

“Obi-Wan,” Ferus prompted.

“Scarif,” Obi-Wan said to himself. Then, sharply, he looked up. “The Outer Rim, Abrion Sector.”

Grimly amused, Ferus shook his head.

“You’re from Scarif,” Obi-Wan said to the angry old man, “Both you and Captain Andor."

“And here I thought the Jedi knew everything,” the angry old man returned.

“I thought the settlement on Scarif was wiped out some twenty years ago,” Obi-Wan continued, “The Council received word of it after the fact.”

“And a lot of good that did,” the angry old man said.

Ferus nearly choked on the resentment that billowed off the angry old man in thick, crashing waves.

Obi-Wan inclined his head in diplomatic acknowledgement of a galactic failure.

“I assume you are familiar with Captain Andor?” he asked.

Something flickered in the angry old man’s eyes, dark, unsettled.

“In a sense,” he said shortly. He paused, then added, “He was raised on Fest.”

“I know that one,” Ferus jumped in, “It’s a Force-forsaken, frozen lump of a thing in the Atrivis Sector. The Empire abandoned it a few years ago because there really was nothing there worth Palpatine’s time.”

“So it is possible that that’s how he escaped the Inquisitors,” Obi-Wan said, “If he is Force-sensitive.”

“He’s had dreams,” the angry old man spoke up suddenly, “Bail said that he’s always had dreams, but this is the worst one he’s ever seen.”

“But even if he _is_ Force-sensitive,” Ferus replied, “It takes a ridiculous amount of training to even use the Force, let alone have it show you the future without you asking.”

“Oh believe me,” the angry old man said, “I’ll be the last to defend any of your Jedi Force--” he waved the hand that wasn’t glued to his blaster, “ _\--stuff_. I’m just telling you what I know. If you’re so concerned, why don’t you just _talk_ to him? That’s what I came all the way out here for, isn’t it?”

“Good point,” Ferus conceded. “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan turned to the sulking Imperial security droid, who glared at him for a few moments before speaking.

“Oh, so I’m allowed to talk _now?_ ” it said.

“Put a transmission through to Alderaan,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring him with a weary ease that came of long experience, “I suppose it is time the senator and I caught up.”

* * *

Night fell on Alderaan.

Along the shore of Aldera Lake, the crowd gathered by the glow of the flaming synthstone Isatabith jungletree. The living line of House Organa stood together on the raised platform, and Cassian stood off to the side in the shadows, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the Royal Guard, who accepted his presence without complaint.

Breha spoke briefly, succinctly on the importance of freedom in unity, about the balance of choice and respect.

Cassian admired her.

It was very clear now that her people did as well.

This was Alderaan.

When her mother had finished, Leia, standing alone by the jungletree, held the crystal torch to the roaring flames and spoke a quiet word.

As if summoned, the flames leapt down from the tree, up from the bowl, streaking through the air into the torch, which burned white-hot, pure and full of light, as Leia held it above her head, proud and bright.

With a quiet exhalation, the flames disappeared, and the shoreline was plunged into perfect darkness.

Above them, the stars glowed.

The first of the fireworks deafened him, and suddenly, he was back on Fest, tearing through the flames, the ruins, the ground trembling beneath his feet, the skies crying out. He clenched his fists, remaining stiffly at attention, crushing, crushing, denying the desire, the _instinct_ to run.

This was Alderaan.

The explosions continued, cracking, shaking, rattling loose the empty memories in his chest, and he knew he was trembling, shuddering, shaking. He closed his eyes, grateful for the darkness. Any moment now, he would--

A hand gripped his arm.

He flinched violently, but it was Leia, looking up at him with a sad understanding, the muted glow from the bursting stars above briefly illuminating her young, old face.

“Come on!” she shouted over the din, dragging him from the Royal Guard up onto the platform.

He stumbled after her, flesh burning where her hand touched his.

Both Royal Houses of Organa and Antilles stood together on the raised platform, mingling with the many citizens of Aldera and beyond, necks craned, looking up at the sky, at the brilliant lights that brightened the night.

Bail sensed them approach and turned, a wide, childlike grin on his face. He held out a hand and pulled Leia close to stand in front of him, Cassian pressed against his side.

Cassian looked up at the sky, ears ringing, eyes dazzled by the display. Bail settled an arm easily around his shoulders. Cassian was grateful for the darkness, and slowly, the tension, the terror receded.

This was Alderaan.

The fireworks reached a frenzy, and around them, the gasps and laughs became shouts and cheers, simple joy at a bombastic spectacle.

For a few moments, night became day, the sky lit in a flare of green and blue and white.

Then all was dark and silent.

The roar of applause rumbled like the surging tide, growing higher, deeper, richer, stronger, a wordless expression of appreciation and shared love.

Leia yelled along with everyone else and turned to face him, laughing as she jumped up and snatched his cover from his head, flinging it into the air.

“Happy Founding Day!” she shouted, dark eyes dancing.

Cassian smiled down at her, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

Bail drew them together, one arm around his wife, the other around his children.

This, for the briefest of moments, was Alderaan.

  
  
And it was then that Cassian’s comlink, secreted in the collar of his tunic, began vibrating madly, indicating an incoming offworld transmission.


	29. Horse to Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian has a trans-galactic conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily references [Part 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8875372/chapters/20684110) of the “Implosions” miniseries (Chapter 10 of _Sacrifice_ ).
> 
> When I say heavily, I mean _heavily_.

Cassian locked eyes with Bail, the cheers of the crowd still ringing, surging, all content to remain out in the night of celebration.

“Go,” Bail said, understanding immediately.

Cassian ducked out from under his arm, slipping easily through the crowd now, senses sharp. He pinched the button on his collar that acknowledged receipt of the transmission. His datapad was in Bail’s speeder--he could link up with an audio-only stream, that was the best of its capabilities--but he needed to get back to House Organa, needed to get up to the comsat.

He cursed his carelessness. How could he ever have let himself become so-- _distractible?_

Several members of the Royal Guard--the actual Royal Guard--appeared behind him, and he tensed, increasing his pace until--

“Captain!” one of them called, catching up and briefly touching his shoulder, “We’re to escort you back. His Majesty’s orders.”

“Keep up, then,” he snapped, setting off again.

A rebellion was no time to celebrate.

They reached Bail’s speeder, and Cassian hurled himself into the rear seat as the Guards piled into the front to take the controls.

He activated his datapad as they lurched into the air.

Incoming transmission from Radnor. He took a moment to center himself, then opened up the channel, fumbling with his earpiece to maintain at least some semblance of privacy.

“This is Andor,” he said.

A delay of perhaps ten interminable seconds, then, scratchily through his earpiece, “Cassian, it’s Ro. Why can’t we see you? Where’s the viceroy?”

“It’s an audio-only feed,” Cassian and Kaytoo said at exactly the same moment.

“I’m on my way back to the palace. It’s Founding Day,” Cassian added, “Are you alright?”

A sharp burst of static. Cassian winced.

“ _We’re_ fine,” Kaytoo said, and even millions and millions of miles of distorted spacetime could not disguise the pointed nature of his words, “All _four_ of us.”

“Four?” Cassian demanded, “You have--our contact? Who else is there?”

“Yes, we have him,“ Ro said in Scryllic.

“Who else?” Cassian repeated, reverting to the same.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Ro said, irritated bewilderment bleeding across the galaxy, “But we found another one.”

“Another--” Cassian cut himself off, scrubbing a hand across his face, missing the scruff of his beard, “ _No_.”

“Yes. And they both want to talk to you. Face to face. How far are you from the palace?”

“Five, ten minutes.”

“Alright. We’ll wait for a more secure line.”

Cassian grunted, glancing out the window at the cityscape blurring by below them.

“Your position is secure?” he asked.

“Secure enough,” Ro replied.

Cassian let out half a breath.

“Cut the connection,” he said, “Just to be safe. ‘Call me in ten.”

“Alright,” Ro said, “I’ll--” he broke off. Then, distantly, sharply, “What is it?”

“Ro,” Cassian snapped, “What’s happening?”

“What do you mean ‘they’re coming?’ Who’s ‘they?’’

“ _Ro_.”

“Ah, _fark_.”

“Hurry up,” Cassian barked into the front seat.

A very distant voice, tiny and unfamiliar, said, “We need to leave.”

“How do they know we’re here?” Ro demanded, voice rising, anger disguising fear.

“I don’t think they do.” A different voice, equally as unfamiliar.

“Ro!” Cassian shouted.

“Obi-Wan,” the first unfamiliar voice said, strained, “Curi--”

“--I know.”

“Jeron,” Ro said, low and suddenly loud into his ear, “Several Imperial transports have just landed.”

The speeder lurched to a halt in House Organa’s hangar. Cassian vaulted out, sprinting for the ‘lift.

“How long until they find you?” he demanded, keying in access to the comsat level.

“Don’t know. The Je--our _friends_ think they don’t know we’re here. Some Force thing.”

Cassian swore under his breath. He’d never trusted the Force before in his life. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Hold on,” he gritted out as the ‘lift doors eased, maddeningly slowly, open, “I’m almost there.”

He transferred the open link from his datapad to the comsat holoprojector, slamming down the lights.

The hologram feed flickered to life, startlingly clear.

“Ro,” he demanded.

“She’s sealed us in,” Ro said hoarsely, hair falling loosely into his face, blaster clutched in his hand.

“Who?” Cassian snapped.

“Curi Ventoss,” came the second unfamiliar voice, and Cassian bristled instinctively at the sharp Core accent.

A silvered, robed man stepped into view, and Ro shifted uneasily aside.

“General,” Cassian said.

“Captain,” the Jedi replied, equally as inscrutable.

“Is now really the time!?” shouted the second younger, far more unfamiliar voice.

Kenobi looked over his shoulder.

“We won’t be getting through those doors any time soon,” he said drily, folding opposite hands into opposite sleeves, “Barring some hitherto unforeseen application of the Force.”

Was that a _joke?_

Ro made some sort of choking sound and turned away.

Somewhat muffled, Kaytoo said, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Yes, thank you,” Kenobi replied, very courteously, eyes still fixed on Cassian.

“Obi-Wan, _really?_ ” came the unfamiliar voice again, and another man stormed into view, large, tall, and imposing, “We’ve got Stormtroopers twenty levels below us doing Force knows what, likely headed up in our direction. Curi’s gone and locked us in here--she’s either some sort of Imperial sympathizer or--I don’t know, _dead_ since I can’t raise her on our comms. And you just want to stand there and have a _conversation?_ ”

Kenobi looked up at the man, entirely unruffled.

“That _is_ what we came here to do, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah,” the man said, “But we can’t just sit and _wait_ for them to find us. To find _you_.”

General Kenobi.

Cassian knew full well the role this man--this _Jedi_ \--had played in the Clone Wars. No Separatist could be unfamiliar with the name Kenobi.

“I am of little consequence,” Kenobi said, turning back to the hololens, looking Cassian in the eye, “There are far more important matters to discuss.”

“ _Obi-Wan--_ ”

“--trust in the Force, Ferus,” Kenobi said vaguely, “I sense that no harm will come to us here.”

“Yeah, did Qui-Gon tell you that?” the other Jedi--Ferus, apparently--snapped, “I hate to break it to you, but he’s not exactly someone you should be taking advice from when it comes to things like, well, _not dying_.”

“Yes, I have to agree with him,” Cassian jumped in, “Whatever this conversation is, it can wait. Your situation is far more critical.”

Ferus turned to face the lens, dark eyes widened for just a moment in hastily concealed surprise.

“There,” Ferus said, “That’s it. Even _he_ agrees with me. We need to find a way out of here.”

“I agree,” Kaytoo added.

“By all means,” Kenobi said without moving, “Go ahead and try. We both know those doors are quantum-sealed. We’re on Radnor, not Tatooine.”

Ferus made a wordless sound of guttural frustration and whirled away from view.

“Captain Andor,” Kenobi said, unruffled, turning back to the hololens.

“Yes.”

“You’re from the Outer Rim.”

“Yes.”

Cassian twitched impatiently.

“You’ve been with the Rebellion for quite some time.”

“I have.”

“How did you and the senator meet?”

“He knew my father. My step-father.”

The Jedi’s eyes narrowed in thought.

“Andor,” he said to himself, then looked up sharply, “Genru Andor, wasn't it? Senator Organa’s aide in the Galactic Senate.”

“That’s right.”

“He was a good man.”

Cassian swallowed.

“Thank you.”

After another moment’s uncomfortable evaluation--

“Captain,” the Jedi said, “What do you know about the Force?”

Cassian hesitated.

“It tells you what to do,” he said finally.

“Is that really what you think?”

A sudden surge of irritation filled him.

“What does it matter?” he demanded.

The Jedi regarded him with evenly.

“What one believes is something’s purpose often becomes reality, regardless of the truth.”

“You and your Jedi riddles,” Cassian snapped, “I should have known.”

“Known what? Known better than to seek counsel from a Jedi? Or known better than to trust the senator?”

_This is what they want, can’t you see? They just want us to fight each other, everyone tearing everyone to pieces. This is so much bigger than just the Republic._

“This was a mistake,” Cassian said, struggling to control his temper.

“Is that really what you think?”

“You tell me,” Cassian spat, “You're the _Jedi_.”

“You know,” Kenobi said, gaze turning reflective, “People like you are the reason the Empire succeeded.” Before Cassian could reply, he continued, voice sharpening again, “And a clear reminder of how the Jedi failed.”

They regarded each other across the galaxy, Jedi and Separatist. General and Rebel. The last of their kind.

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” Ferus hissed, “They’re on this floor. Headed straight here.”

“Yes, I can sense them,” Kenobi said with just a hint of exasperation, “Excuse me a moment, Captain.”

He turned and placed his back to the hololens but did not cut the transmission.

Ferus drew a short, gleaming cylinder from beneath his robes.

 _Lightsaber_ , said the old legends in Cassian’s mind.

“Put that away,” Kenobi said.

“ _I’m_ not going with them,” Ferus snapped, “I’m not letting you, either.”

“Put it away,” Kenobi repeated, his voice molten durasteel, “You won’t need it.”

Cassian read the warring lines of tension in both sets of shoulders.

With a muttered curse, Ferus snapped his lightsaber back onto his belt.

“You _Jedi--_ ” Ro snarled, storming across the room, a blurred shadow.

The doors hissed open. Cassian glimpsed gleaming white helmets. A billowing white cloak. His words caught in his mouth. Frozen, he recognized--

A burst of blaster fire. An explosion of smoke. In the corner, someone fell.

Ferus yanked Kenobi aside, pinning him beneath the comsat console, shielding him. With a sharp click, the holo-feed fizzled out. Audio remained.

More blaster fire. Until--

“ _Stop!_ ”

A Mid-Rim voice. The Mid-Rim voice. From Naboo.

He couldn’t breathe.

Bootsteps, one set, one man. Growing louder. Closer.

Into the silence--

“What’s going on here?” Orson Krennic demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who saw this coming?


	30. Pig to Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another familiar face.
> 
> Communication is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References Chapter 10 of _Sacrifice_ (Implosion, Part 3).

Bail stiffened, one foot in the door of the comsat room, when he saw Cassian frozen at the console, shoulders hunched, white-knuckled fingers gripping the ledge.

A disembodied voice said, “What are you doing here?”

Bail locked the door behind him.

Cassian did not look up.

“Please,” the voice said.

Bail crossed the room to Cassian’s side. He checked the transmission details. Incoming from Radnor. Holo-vis disabled. His heart clenched. Wordlessly, he stood by Cassian’s side.

“Alright,” the voice said.

A distant clatter, the distinct sound of blaster safeties clicking off.

Cassian did not move. Bail sensed the beginning of a fracture.

“Wait,” Kaytoo said.

They flinched in unison.

“I do not understand.”

Cassian jerked his head up, stung. The silence hung in the air.

“Good.”

With a sudden, sharp snap, the transmission fizzled out.

They stared at the console for a moment in disbelief.

Jaw set, Cassian lunged for the controls, checking power, interference, everything. Bail looked over his shoulder. Nothing. The connection had been severed on Radnor.

Cassian took another step back.

Bail turned to look at him, at the ruthlessly denied pain in his face.

“Kay,” Cassian rasped, eyes dark with realization.

Frantically, he dove back to the console, trying to re-dial the scrambled comsat on Radnor, to resurrect the voices. It would have taken a team of the Rebellion’s most talented slicers several months to break the encryption. He didn’t get far.

“Cassian,” Bail said quietly.

Cassian ignored him, throwing himself down under the console, pulling aside the access panel, rerouting power--

“ _Cassian_ ,” Bail repeated.

“I’m not just going to wait,” Cassian said, working feverishly, “I’m not going to wait.”

“Cassian, there’s nothing you can do.”

“ _Fark_ ,” Cassian swore, pulling himself to his feet in one movement, facing Bail chest-to-chest, eyes bright, “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I’ve always known that?”

He turned away violently.

“I’m the reason they’re--” he gestured furiously, words catching in his throat, “--that they’re in this farking mess,” he snarled. “I need to find out what happened.”

Bail heard the weight of guilt in his voice. Knew he could do nothing.

So he rolled up his sleeves, leaned over the console, and said, “What do you need me to do?”

* * *

“Well. This is interesting,” the man in the white cloak said.

Ferus held his breath, pressing Obi-Wan further down behind him, praying to the Force to keep them hidden.

A pair of black boots crossed the polished floor inches from his nose.

A disdainful toe nudged the body on the floor onto its back.

“Who are you?” the man demanded.

Defiantly, Ro glared up at him, pale and panting, blood seeping through the fist he had clenched against his chest.

Ferus almost looked away.

“ _Fark you_ ,” Ro gasped, teeth bared.

“Hm,” the man in the cloak said mildly, stepping back, “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Radnor is ours.”

Ro turned his head away limply and, with glazed eyes, saw them under the console. Emotions played out nakedly across his face--fear and surprise, followed by betrayal, then resignation.

There was no anger.

 _I’m sorry_ , Ferus thought _, I’m so sorry. You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand_.

Obi-Wan gripped his arm, viselike, wordlessly keeping him from lunging out, lightsaber flashing, snarling, _protecting_.

 _Do something, Obi-Wan!_ Ferus shouted, jaw clenched.

Obi-Wan did not reply.

The black boots strode away.

“Erso,” the man said, “Take care of this.”

_Obi-Wan!_

Booted stormtrooper feet. Another pair of black boots, duller, scuffed, loomed into view.

A new voice, soft, almost gentle, burred with the casual cadence of some unknown Outer Rim world.

“What are you doing here?” this new man requested, “Please.”

Ro glared up at him through half-lidded eyes and said nothing.

This Imperial officer might have sighed.

“Alright,” he said, and there was a strange note of heaviness in his voice.

His booted feet turned away as well. A clatter of blasters.

“ _Wait._ ”

A quiet whirr of servos. From the far corner of the room, Kaytoo’s massive durasteel feet appeared. The booted feet paused, turning back.

Ferus tensed. That _karking_ reprogrammed droid. Of course it would--

“I do not understand,” Kaytoo said.

Several long breaths of silence.

“Good,” the man replied.

The Force swirled, bright and clear, around them.

“I’ll take care of this,” the man said, voice suddenly sharp, commanding, the voice of an officer, not a man, “Report to the hangar.”

“Yes, sir,” came a filtered voice.

Storming boots exited, and the door shut again.

A pregnant pause.

“Thank you,” Kaytoo said.

“You need to leave,” the Imperial officer replied, crouching by Ro, who turned away weakly, “Your friend needs help.”

He was a slight man, bowed with the weight of years and years, an invisible strain of grief. The creases of his pressed grey uniform were sharp, pointed, threatening to cut him in two.

The Force swelled--a divided heart, longing, anger, a loss so profound--

He turned and saw them.

Ferus lunged forward, lightsaber drawn, but Kaytoo was there, suddenly, hands outstretched.

“He is a friend,” the droid said.

“Get out of my way,” Ferus snarled, “We can’t trust him. He’s an _Imperial_.”

“He is a friend,” the droid repeated, unyielding.

“ _Ferus_ ,” Obi-Wan said behind him, a whip cracking through the heavy silence.

The Imperial officer stood slowly, pale eyes fixed on the lightsaber hilt in Ferus’s hand.

“He does not know who we are,” Obi-Wan said sharply, “Do you.”

The Imperial officer considered this a moment.

“You are light,” he said finally, in the voice of a man, “You are hope.”

Only Ferus sensed Obi-Wan’s surprise.

“We thank you,” Obi-Wan said, striding to Ro’s side. He looked up at Kaytoo. “Can you carry him?” he asked, “We need to leave.”

Wordlessly, Kaytoo bent and carefully, terribly carefully, scooped Ro into his arms. Ferus sensed some strange, sad familiarity about the action, but when the droid straightened again, his optics were, as ever, inscrutable.

Obi-Wan turned back to the Imperial officer. Quietly, he said, “Is there anyone we can--”

The man shook his head, briefly, mechanically.

“Go,” he said, “Quickly. They will clear the private landing pads soon.”

“Curi?” Ferus demanded, hand still on his lightsaber.

“I’m sorry,” the man replied, and there was honest regret in his impersonal words.

Ferus’s chest tightened, and he brushed it aside ruthlessly. Later, there would be grief. Later, there would be anger. But now--

“Let’s go,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this is where I'll be leaving you for the weekend.


	31. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey is made, and a conversation is had.

They were on a ship.

Ro could feel space, like time, slipping by.

“We need to find a medical facility,” Kaytoo said, somewhere far away, “He will not survive a week in hyperspace.”

“You really don’t know who you’re talking to,” the angry Jedi said.

* * *

Cassian did not sleep. He did not eat. He did not speak.

He did not dream.

Bail sent out feelers through the galaxy, seeking word.

Radnor had been taken, nearly bloodlessly, Winter Celchu said. Breha kept a close eye on these affairs, ostensibly out of concern for her people. Leia returned to the Imperial Senate, where she began to sense a perceptible change in the body that had, mere months ago, at least feigned democracy.

She grew older.

* * *

Obi-Wan had never been a terribly skilled healer.

He recalled, in the distant echoes of memory, the siege on Lanteeb.

He looked down, now, at the man before him and accepted that he could only prolong.

This man, he saw, understood.

“You must help him,” the Imperial droid said, standing at his side.

“I cannot heal,” he replied, “Only ease the pain.”

“He must return to Alderaan,” the droid insisted, a faint note of strain in his voice.

Obi-Wan looked up at him.

The droid shifted.

“He killed Cassian’s father,” he said, “But Cassian finds him important.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan said.

“I do not,” Kaytoo replied.

* * *

They received a transmission on the third day.

Weakly, it scuttled across the galaxy, setting off the alarm Cassian had rigged to the comsat. He had the line open before Bail, groggy with sleep, could even open his eyes.

“Cassian,” Kaytoo said.

Cassian sagged against the console. Bail held him up.

“Kay,” Cassian said.

“We are four days from Alderaan,” Kaytoo continued.

“Is anyone with you?” Cassian demanded.

“Everyone is with me,” Kaytoo replied.

“Are you all alright? How did you get out?”

Silence.

“ _Kay_.”

“Captain Andor,” came the crisp Core voice.

“General.”

“I’m afraid I’ve some bad news.”

* * *

“I’m going,” Cassian said, “You aren’t.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go alone,” Bail said, dark rings under his eyes, sharp creases in his face.

“Yeah?” Cassian replied, heaving his rucksack onto his shoulder, “And who would you want to send with me?”

“Cassian--”

“-- _Bail_.”

A sea of the unspoken.

Cassian turned to face him, eyes hard, shadowed.

“I have to go,” he said. He swallowed, and resolve crumbled for just a moment. “I have to see him.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bail said.

Cassian shook his head violently.

“ _No_ , aren’t you listening to me? You can’t come. You have to stay here. You can’t be found with two Jedi and a Rebel.”

“We’re rendezvousing with them in the Mid Rim, not landing on Naboo. We’ll be out of hyperspace for no more than a few hours.”

“Bail, I can’t--” Cassian broke off, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Well, neither can I,” Bail snapped. He stepped closer. “Both ways, remember?” Cassian said nothing. Bail continued, “I’ve already sent word to General Dodonna that we’d be off-planet for a few days. Told him it was First Council busniess.”

Cassian turned away, hands clenched tightly around the straps of his rucksack.

“Breha?” he asked roughly.

“She knows.”

“You’ve obviously already made up your mind,” he said.

“Yes,” Bail said sharply, “I have.”

* * *

They traveled across the galaxy for a dying man.

* * *

“Obi-Wan,” Bail said.

“Bail,” Obi-Wan replied.

They regarded each other in the cramped main corridor of the _Starfarer_ , hands clasped in greeting.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said.

“Thank you,” Bail replied.

“There’s still time,” Ferus said.

“Where is he?” Cassian demanded.

* * *

Ro knew he was dying. Had accepted it, wished for it.

Now, as had increasingly become the case in recent weeks, his thoughts turned to Scarif. He thought about the clear waters at Vidre Sound, the hot springs of Pedra, the little yellow perch he would pull from the fresh spring behind the village school. Behind closed eyes, he saw them again, felt the heat of the sun on his face disappear as he dove under the sea.

“Ro,” Lian said.

“What are you doing here?” he asked around the pain in his chest.

Lian sat beside him, looking away, lines of trouble between his eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” he said.

“Am I dead yet?”

“No,” Lian said quietly, “Not yet.” He stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Ro blinked slowly.

“For what?” he asked, “You’re the one that’s dead.”

Lian drew back, jaw set. He was so young, so young, yet bowed with an age of pain.

“Yes, I am,” he said finally, “I’m dead.”

“I killed you,” Ro said.

“No,” Lian shook his head firmly, “You did not. That was my own choice.”

“It was one you never had to make. One you never should have had to.”

“Should have,” Lian repeated, mouth twisted.

“I’m sorry,” Ro said, feeling like he would split in two, “I’m so sorry.”

Lian shook his head again.

“I never blamed you,” he said, his own voice choking, clouding, “I never did. How could I?”

“You left Scarif... “ Ro breathed, struggling, “You left for me.”

“I did,” Lian said, “It’s what I chose to do. I left for you, and I died for you. And I would again. I would, again, without thinking.”

“How can you say that?” Ro rasped.

Lian looked away, dark hair falling into dark eyes.

“Sometimes,” he said heavily, finally, “Surviving is worse.”

Ro looked up at him, uncomprehending. He felt a hard, calloused hand take his, so familiar, and yet--

“Go,” Lian said, rough and full of grief, “Rest.”

Ro closed his eyes again.

And disappeared beneath the sea.

* * *

Bail sat in the copilot’s seat in the cockpit of the Starfarer. Obi-Wan stood beside him, Ferus leaned up against the central console. Obi-Wan looked close to death himself, drawn and haggard.

“I’m fine,” his old friend said, plucking his thoughts straight from his head.

Bail looked at him wryly, wearily.

“That’s very reassuring,” he muttered, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. His thoughts turned again to the rear cabin, to the palpable grief even he could sense. “Thank you, again,” he said, words dry in his mouth, “He--” he broke off, knowing Obi-Wan, in his own way, would understand.

“His droid was very insistent,” Obi-Wan said, steering the conversation away from dangerous emotion and proving that, yes, he did.

Surprised, Bail looked to Kaytoo, who stood, uncharacteristically quiet, in the corner.

“Cassian finds this man important,” Kaytoo said, only a little defensively, “It does not matter what I think.”

He turned to the rear cabin, uncertainty in the sloping lines of his shoulders.

Ferus shifted against the central console and cleared his throat.

“I hate to be the one to say this,” he said, and Bail wondered when this young man had grown so old, “But we need to talk about this whole thing.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Cassian?” Bail replied, ignoring the sinking in his stomach. He turned to Obi-Wan. “He’s the one you need to speak to, isn’t it?”

“In a sense,” Obi-Wan said distantly, head sunk to his chest.

“What do you mean by that?” Bail demanded.

Obi-Wan turned to him, a familiar look on his face. He’d had the same expression eighteen years ago when they’d decided the fate of the galaxy around a conference table aboard the _Tantive IV_.

“The Force…” Obi-Wan said slowly, reluctantly matching his gaze, “Does what it will. We cannot change what will happen, for in changing what might have been, we bring about what _will_.”

“You want to do nothing, then,” Bail said flatly, “You don’t think any of it’s true.”

“It’s not that I don’t think it’s true,” Obi-Wan said uncomfortably, “It could be. It could not be.”

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” Bail snapped, “ _Really?_ I thought you, of all people, would understand the need for action.”

“This is not _inaction_ ,” Obi-Wan bit out, “This is caution. There’s a difference. We can’t know for certain what lies in the future. That’s not how the Force works." He continued tightly, "If you knew where we’d be today, would you have changed it?”

“Of course,” Bail retorted, “What kind of question is that?”

“But what, exactly, would you have changed?” Obi-Wan pressed, eyes bright, hard, “Would you even know where to begin? Perhaps with Palpatine’s election, but we know now that he’d been a Sith long before his ascendancy in the Senate. Perhaps with the Jedi, then. Spurred us into action sooner, would you? What could _we_ have done? Who would have believed you? The galaxy had turned against the Jedi long before Palpatine came to power--don’t deny it. Before Zigoola, you were just the same.” He paused, took a breath. “Perhaps, then, with _Anakin_. Perhaps we should have left the boy on Tatooine. Perhaps we should have killed him then, as a child, so he wouldn’t have lived to be the man the galaxy loved so much it turned to hate. Do you understand what I’m saying? Anything, everything, and nothing we do could lead to this end--to Alderaan’s destruction. And it could not.”

“You’re gambling with the lives of _billions,_ ” Bail said, “We _all_ know what the Empire is capable of, and you just want to do nothing? Well, according to you, nothing _is_ something. How do you know that by doing nothing, we aren’t just--”

“--You don’t know how the Force works,” Obi-Wan snapped, anger all the more cutting for its rarity.

“Yeah, well, apparently, you don’t either,” Bail retorted.

“ _Hey_ ,” Ferus interrupted, finding himself suddenly the voice of reason, “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Obi-Wan looked away stiffly, a faint tinge of color to his pale cheeks.

“Look,” Ferus continued uneasily, “We’ve all come a long way. Maybe we should just wait for Captain Andor.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“His friend is dying. He won’t be in any frame of mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Bail said sharply.

Obi-Wan looked at him and sighed wearily, bordering on exhaustion.

“I’ll go check on him,” Bail said, rising with a great popping of joints. “You,” he stabbed a finger in Obi-Wan’s direction, “Get some rest.”

Something between a smile and a grimace made its way across the old Jedi’s face.

“As you command, Senator,” he replied.

* * *

It was quiet in the rear cabin.

Deathly quiet. Silent as the grave. Still as--

Bail shook himself.

Cassian sat on the duraplast floor. His back was to the door, and he leaned against the bottom shelf of bunks. Bail made sure his bootsteps heralded his entry, but Cassian did not move.

Bail stood beside him and saw that Ro was dead.

“Cassian,” he said, his throat dry.

“He thought I was my father,” Cassian said, words hard and soft, Basic blurring into Scryllic. He looked up at Bail, eyes dry, jaw set. “I told him there was nothing to forgive.”

Bail sat beside him.

“Your father would have been proud,” he said.

Cassian looked at him, evenly, openly, for the first time.

“Are you?” he asked.

Bail didn’t quite smile, but through their shared grief spread sudden warmth.

“Yes,” he said, “I am.”


	32. Mending, Probability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion without a conclusion is reached.

"Just tell me this,” Bail said, keeping a tight rein on his temper, “Do you believe Cassian’s dreams were Force-sent or not?” As Obi-Wan opened his mouth, he added, “And don’t tell me ‘everything is given by the Force.’ I’ve had enough of that from you to last a lifetime. I want to know if you,  _you,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi,think these dreams were visions. Of all of us, you're the one who would know, since Anakin--” he broke off almost guiltily.

They’d never spoken about it. Not on Polis Massa. Not on the _Tantive IV_. He’d tried to, just before Obi-Wan had left for Tatooine, and he still remembered the piercing, naked grief that had stolen over his friend’s face.

That same look, tempered by time and age, was back.

Cassian, though pale and wan, looked between the two of them, dark eyes sharp.

After an interminable silence, Obi-Wan said quietly, “You really shouldn’t be asking me.”

“Yeah,” Bail said roughly, “But you’re all we’ve got.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard. Cassian sensed it was a conscious habit.

“You’ve had dreams before,” Obi-Wan sad, turning to him.

“Not like this,” Cassian replied.

“I can confirm,” Kaytoo said from the corner.

Cassian shot him a look, but the droid remained slouched, unperturbed.

“Why was this different?” the Jedi asked.

“It felt--real,” Cassian said hesitantly, “It was my head all the time, every night.”

“That's because you’re Force-sensitive,” Ferus Olin said from the far corner, opposite Kaytoo.

“I’m _what?_ ”

Bail started involuntarily in his seat.

Ferus looked to Obi-Wan.

“Right, Obi-Wan?” he pressed, “You can sense it too.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Obi-Wan said drily, “You won’t suddenly become a Jedi in your sleep. Or ever, I don’t believe,” he added. “Your connection with the Force is a weak one, unlike those of other Force-sensitives destined for that path.”

For some reason, he addressed these last words to Bail.

“What does that mean?” Bail asked when Cassian failed to piece together a reply.

“You’ve been in intelligence work for some time now,” Obi-Wan said instead, turning back to Cassian, “Haven’t you?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Cassian replied hoarsely.

“It’s dangerous work,” Ferus added, “Especially in the Outer Rim.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re so good at what you do?” Obi-Wan continued, “You are quick to evaluate situations and instinctive when it comes to just  _understanding_ people.”

“It’s all I’ve ever done,” Cassian retorted, “Of _course_ I’m good at it.”

“How do you think _we’re_ still alive?” Ferus asked, gesturing to Obi-Wan, “No one can avoid the Empire for long without the help of the Force.”

“Maybe you’re just good at _hiding_ ,” Cassian spat.

Bail shot him a warning look.

“If you really believed that,” Obi-Wan said, “You wouldn’t be here.”

“I came here to mend fences with a dying man,” Cassian returned, standing, “Not to have you push your _Force_ on me.” He turned to Bail. “I never wanted this,” he said.

“You wanted the truth,” Obi-Wan snapped, whip-sharp, “But you refuse to accept it.”

“Truth?” Cassian laughed bitterly, “What truth? You’ve gotten the last of my people killed, and now we’ve flown you halfway across the galaxy for you to tell us that, no, you don’t really know any better than the rest of us what any of it means.”

“Did you honestly expect any differently?”

Cassian glanced at Bail, almost too quickly to catch.

Everyone in the room noticed.

“What does it matter if I did?” he demanded.

“It means you have hope,” Obi-Wan said.

“ _Hope_ ,” Cassian snarled. The word caught in his throat. “What good is _hope?_ ”

“My friend,” Ben said, with eyes as old and sad as the sea, “Hope is all we’ve ever had.”

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Cassian said.

He and Bail stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped corridor and watched the Starfarer disappear into the folds of hyperspace.

“I do,” Kaytoo said.

The two men turned to him.

“You do,” Cassian repeated flatly.

“There are infinite possibilities,” Kaytoo said, looking down at Cassian, “And so, uncertain probability.”

“He left,” Cassian said, “Back to hide on his rock. We asked him for help. Ro died for him. And he left.”

Kay rocked back and forth on his heels, a small, repetitive motion.

“Bayesian probability was developed several millennia ago,” he said.

“ _Kay--"_

“--Bayesian probability does not utilize objective frequency to predict events. Rather, values are assigned to states of knowledge and belief, and these are then used to calculate the probability of a single event.” He stopped rocking, abruptly. “Bayesian probability assumes foreknowledge of events,” he said, “And has been applied for millennia and likely will for many to come.”

Cassian looked away, back out the viewport as if, by the force of his gaze, he could summon the Starfarer’s return.

“What are you saying, Kay?” he asked quietly.

“You know what I am saying, Cassian,” Kaytoo replied, “Though, for the benefit of the viceroy, I will clarify. Alderaan’s destruction may or may not occur. It is a future event along an indeterminate timescale. These two statements are irrefutable and, as such, have no bearing on current events because the immutable cannot, by definition, be changed or influenced by any action. Therefore, upon assigning null values to these two statements, which, you’ll agree are the fulcrum upon which your disagreement with the Jedi balances, you are left with a clear course of action.”

“And what is that?”

“Does it matter what the truth is,” Kaytoo asked, “When you know there is only one course of action you would ever have chosen to take?”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Perhaps this will help,” Kaytoo continued, “Galen Erso, at the time of our escape from Radnor, told me, in confidence, two words that I do not understand.”

Something prickled at the base of Cassian’s skull.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“Two words,” Kaytoo said, “‘Planet killer.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I had the time to do this Ben/Obi-Wan dichotomy some justice.
> 
> As it is, I feel like I might have some explaining to do. Let me know.


	33. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return. A departure.
> 
> An ending.

“You know,” Kes said, “When you said you’d be staying on Alderaan, I sort of expected you to, I don’t know, _stay on Alderaan_.”

“I’m only here for a few hours.”

“Bail’s personal pilot now, are you?” Kes asked, rolling to his feet, “That’s some promotion.”

“Security attache,” Cassian replied, “According to certain sources.” He looked up at his bunk, at the neatly pressed sheets. “Where’s Shara?”

“Just missed her,” Kes said, crossing the room and pulling him into a rough embrace, “Force, you look so much better.”

Cassian tolerated this, just barely.

“I’ll be out of comm range for a while,” he said finally, when Kes made no sign of letting go.

Kes stiffened and stepped away.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

Cassian looked away.

“Something’s come up.”

“Cass,” Kes said, dismay clear in his voice.

“I’ll be reporting directly to Bail,” Cassian continued, hands clasped behind his back, “If that makes you feel any better.”

“It does,” Kes replied, “But not much.”

“I’ve had Kay reassigned to you.”

Kes stared at him.

“No,” he said, “You need him. I don’t want him.”

Cassian shook his head.

“Where I’m going, I can’t take him,” he replied.

“Cass…”

“He’ll be good with ETB,” Cassian said, “I trust you with him.” He paused, fidgeted. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Was this your idea?” Kes demanded, “Fark, you’re supposed to be staying on Alderaan to get away from all this.”

“I’m doing this for Alderaan,” Cassian said quietly.

Kes inhaled sharply.

“--I can’t tell you,” Cassian said before Kes could ask, “Yet. Bail’s making his report to High Command right now.”

“Just tell me you won’t be off-world in the Core.”

Cassian looked him in the eye.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Where?” Kes demanded.

Cassian swallowed a sigh.

“Coruscant,” he said.

“Ah, _fark_ ,” Kes spat, turning away.

Cassian watched him, shifting uneasily.

“The _fark’s_ on Coruscant that you need to go there?”

“The Imperial Senate,” Cassian replied, “Senator Bel Iblis. And Lord Tion.”

“You’re going Imperial again,” Kes said flatly, “ _Again_. Even after Ord Mantell.”

“It’s important, Kes,” Cassian said, “This is different.”

Kes linked his hands together and ran them tautly over his face.

“You know,” he said, a sharp exhale, “I’ve never heard that before.”

The door to their quarters wheezed open.

“I’m not staying here,” Kaytoo said, stepping in and all but slamming the hydraulic durasteel door closed behind him.

“Kay--”

“Why can’t I go with you to Coruscant? I’m an Imperial droid. Coruscant is an Imperial planet. I fail to understand--”

“--Kay, you’re too valuable to be tied down on an indefinite-term undercover assignment. Your skills would be put to much better use with ETB. And,” Cassian added meaningfully, “I trust Kes.”

“I trust Kes too,” Kaytoo said petulantly, “But Kes isn’t you.”

Cassian stared at him in disbelief.

“You were fine staying here when I left for Alderaan. What’s so different about this?”

“You were on Alderaan for extended medical leave. There _should have_ been no need for my presence. But now I know you are incapable of even _convalescing_ without uncovering a galaxy-wide conspiracy. I can only imagine what will happen when you fly off to Coruscant by yourself.” His servos whirred, and he leant forward. “Would you like to hear the probabilities of your death ordered chronologically or by method?”

“Kay, stop being dramatic,” Cassian snapped, “I’ve been on enough solo assignments to know what I’m doing.”

“I was with you on the mission to Ord Mantell,” Kaytoo said, “And even then--”

“This is not up for discussion,” Cassian growled, “I’ve already cleared your transfer with Admiral Cracken.”

Kaytoo stepped back sharply, an involuntary movement.

The whirr of his wildly clicking servos was the only sound in the room.

“You did,” he said finally, drawing himself up stiffly, “Without asking me.”

“Kay, we’re only here for a few hours. As soon as Bail is done--”

“--but you always said it was my choice,” Kaytoo said quietly, “That I would always have a choice.”

Cassian looked away, shifting his rucksack on his shoulder.

“I need you to stay here, Kay,” Cassian said, “I need you _here_.”

“I do not understand.”

“I need my friends to look out for each other,” Cassian replied, looking up at him, “To keep each other safe.”

Kaytoo’s servos whirred loudly.

“But,” he said, “I do too.”

Cassian closed his eyes for just a brief moment.

“Would you, just this once, do as you’re told?” he said with the ghost of a smile, “For me.”

Kaytoo slouched forward again.

“I trust Kes,” he said finally, “But that doesn’t mean I’ll listen to him.”

“Hey!” Kes said.

“I know,” Cassian said, smile growing, “I trust your judgement.”

A bell rang.

The three of them looked blankly at each other for several very long moments.

“That was your doorbell,” Kaytoo informed them helpfully.

“We have a doorbell?” Kes asked.

“Kay,” Cassian said, “Did you break our door again?”

Kaytoo clumped to the door and wrenched it open.

“No,” he said.

“Hello,” Bail asked wryly, standing in the hall, peering up at the droid, “What have I done now?”

“This is your fault,” Kaytoo said.

Bail frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kay, be nice,” Cassian muttered, nudging him out of the way so Bail could enter, “That was fast. Is it time?”

“Hey Kes,” Bail greeted quickly. To Cassian, he said, “We have approval.”

Cassian jerked a nod.

Turning back to Kes, he said, “I guess this is it, then.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Kes snarled, “I’ll be seeing you again.”

“You will,” Bail said, “We’re headed back to Alderaan first--I don't think my appearance would help things on Coruscant. I’ll make sure he 'calls you before he leaves for the Senate. Is Shara offworld?”

Kes shook his head.

“Just flying patrol,” he said, “We didn’t know you’d be back.”

“Well, we’re sorry we missed her,” Bail said genuinely, “Give her our best, would you?”

“Yeah,” Kes replied, dipping his head quickly.

He looked at Cassian, saw the familiar lines of tension, of anticipation.

Mingled among these, however, was something new. A new purpose. A new resolve. A new hope.

“Don’t die,” he said because there were no other words.

“I won’t,” Cassian promised.

They regarded each other for several long moments, then Kes lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his best and oldest friend, holding him tightly, memorizing the fire in his eyes that Kes was certain would be gone if they ever met again.

This time, Kes pulled away first, forcing his words out dry.

“’Call me before you leave,” he demanded.

“I will,” Cassian said.

Cassian turned away, looking back up at Kaytoo.

“Take care of him,” he said.

“I will,” Kaytoo said, “I promise.”

There was a novel heaviness in the air. These goodbyes had been said many, many times before, and yet, somehow--gravity pressed down, relentless.

“Take care, you two,” Bail said.

He held out a hand, and Cassian turned willingly, allowing it to rest on his shoulder, guiding him out and away.

Kes remained looking at the open doorway for minutes or hours. Kaytoo said nothing.

“I guess it’s just us, then,” Kes said finally, looking up at the droid.

“Yes,” Kaytoo said distantly, chin lifted, as if he could see through the walls and into the depths of space, “I guess.”

* * *

In the end, Kes was sent out with ETB that afternoon.

There was no holocall.

The next time he saw his best and oldest friend, it was in the main hangar of the main ziggurat, quietly circling a woman who burned with a familiar, ferocious desperation.

 

The next time he saw his best and oldest friend, they would be on the burning beaches of Scarif, fighting the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very vague explanation: The more of the EU I read, the more I fell in love with it. I posted a spoiler in the endnotes a few chapters back--not sure if anyone actually checked it out, but here it is now, no longer really a spoiler: One of Cassian’s canon aliases is Aach. According to Wookiepedia, in the EU, Aach is “the code name of a Human male who served as a Rebel agent during the Galactic Civil War. He informed Garm Bel Iblis in 0 BBY of the Death Star plans [and was] directly answerable to Bail Organa.” You can probably imagine how my brain might have exploded just a bit with that piece of news.  
> It had always been my intention to make this fit into canon, but when I discovered that ridiculous fact somewhere around Chapter 25, I decided to tweak the ending just to have it be both canon and EU-compliant.
> 
> An extension of the above vague explanation (or, other random facts I wish I’d had more time to explore):  
> \- Ferus Olin as Leia’s secret Jedi protector. This is an actual thing in the EU, though in EU canon she doesn’t realise he’s a Jedi until much, much later. In this series, however, Leia’s the one who contacted Ferus about “clearing the way” on Radnor before Obi-Wan and Ro got there. This little fact was somehow excised in the editing process, I think.  
> \- Bail and Obi-Wan’s relationship. In Karen Miller’s _Clone Wars_ series, they are pretty much best friends, though it starts out with mutual distrust until a crash-landing on some Sith planet forces (pun intended) them to realize that politicians and Jedi don’t have to be just politicians and Jedi standing on opposite sides of the playing field. Also from the _Clone Wars_ series--Bail and Padme’s relationship. Alas, that was _never_ going to fit in here.  
>  \- Ben and Obi-Wan. This is completely headcanon. I’ve always wondered how the dry, acerbic Obi-Wan utterly frustrated with the Senate’s inaction we see at the end of Episode III became the vague, spacey Ben willing to hold up his lightsaber and die just “because the Force said so” we see in Episode IV. I wanted to show just a little of that transition.  
> \- Kaytoo as the voice of reason. I’ve been meaning to write a piece about Kaytoo’s relationship with Cassian and actually do it justice, but in reality, that’s probably never going to happen, so I worked it in here instead.  
> \- Lord Tion. In the EU, an Imperial officer who flirted with Leia and gave away information about the Death Star before she ended up killing him. In this series, a throwaway namedrop.  
> \- Garm Bel Iblis. Corellian senator, one of the founding members of the Rebel Alliance. In the EU, worked closely with Aach in the search for the Death Star plans after his family was murdered (read: blown up) and he was presumed dead. In this series, a throwaway namedrop.
> 
> Anything else I missed? Let me know. There is one fairly large plot device I purposely left unresolved, but other than that, most of the rest are little things I’d be glad to clarify.
> 
> Some admin stuff:  
> \- Keep an eye out for that “Beginnings” piece sometime at the start of next week. I’ll be adding it as Part 4 of this series.  
> \- _Alternatively,_ will be winding down soon, hopefully.  
>  \- Requests?
> 
> Cheers, all, for reading.


End file.
